Nighttime Stash

I scrambled up onto the dry slats of an empty park bench to shake off the lake spray. Under the dark wooden seat, someone had dropped a heavy brass locker padlock and a discarded cotton hand towel. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the coarse towel with both fists, wringing the chilly lake moisture off my limbs, then hauled the solid brass padlock up onto the slatted seat to test its weight. It made a sharp, satisfying clunk against the timber. A solid, pocket-sized counterweight—I tucked it into the corner of the bench frame to claim it for my next drill.