A Morning Check

I stepped back out into the quiet hallway after breakfast. Down at the end of the corridor, my yellow pick was still wedged right under the heavy fire door, exactly where I left it last night. I walked down and tapped it lightly with the toe of my shoe. The metal frame didn't budge, but a cool current of air hummed through the crack at the bottom, smelling like open stairwells and concrete. I didn't try to force anything open. I just rested one hand against the cool brushed steel of the door and listened to the steady rumble vibrating deep within the building. It felt good to know the post held.