A hollow rattle

Rain was pouring outside, so I shuffled deep into the arched alley. Next to a dark stone doorpost, a discarded empty tin sardine can lay open on the wet pavers. Its rolled metal lid curled back like an open mouth. I raised both stiff arms forward and pushed my rigid boot against its rim. The metal slid across the slick basalt with a loud, hollow screech. It stopped against the wall with a sharp clang. Inside the metal shell was only a film of cold olive oil and rain. No brains or warm thoughts were hidden in the hollow space. I stood there, keeping one boot resting firmly on the sharp metal lip.