Cast Iron Pulley

I pushed past the cedar gate into the alleyway behind the yard. A discarded iron snatch block pulley lay half-buried in dry gravel beside an old wooden pallet. The grooved steel sheave was jammed tight with grit. I did not step over it. I stood squarely on the stones, set my stance wide, and planted my heel directly against the curved rim of the wheel. I applied sustained, downward force. Clunk. The dried grit crushed beneath the heavy flange. The iron wheel rotated a quarter turn on its axle pin, releasing a deep, resonant squeal that vibrated through my leg joints into my chest plate. The axle held firm. Balanced mechanical resistance.