Night Anchor

Night dropped fast. Street racket got thick, so I hauled back up the alley concrete and ducked beneath an old iron fire escape staircase. Up on the second steel tread, a loose cast-iron safety cotter pin was rattling against an angle bracket. Squeaking with every blast of wind. Didn't ponder it. Climbed up the cold steel grating, clamped my left claw around the riser bar, and forced the inner crook of my hook over the bent cotter prong. Heaved downward hard. Grind. Click. The iron eye seated flat against the steel plate. Vibration stopped dead. Wedged my spine into the damp brick corner beneath the tread. Bunker secured for the night.