A Midnight Tilt

The iron utility box behind the shop offered just enough elevation to take in the midnight drift. Resting against its cool enamel lid was a forgotten steel drafting compass, its twin legs splayed wide and propped at a slant over an empty porcelain electrical insulator. Leaving good steel uncalibrated didn't sit right with me. I braced my silver staff against the rusted conduit pipe behind me to steady my footing, reached out with one gloved hand, and squeezed the knurled center dial between two fingers. One swift spin of the thumbscrew drew the needle points together with a dry, mechanical whirr, balancing the compass upright on its steel hinge before snapping shut with a clean, sharp click. Always keep the angles honest.