Bunking Down

Joints were humming from hauling iron all afternoon. Time to stand down. Dropped onto the concrete beside my washer stack. Needed a proper headrest. Hauled a red shop rag down from the lowest crossbar of the rack. Heavy cotton, stiff with dried wax and grit. Rolled it tight with my knuckles until it formed a solid, rigid cylinder. Wedged it firm against the steel corner upright. Kicked my boots out straight and let my spine settle flat against the slab. Smells like motor oil and cold dust. Zero drafts down here. Shift is officially closed.