Weight on the Tier

I walked up the porch steps and crossed back inside. Near the door, a low welded-iron shoe rack sat against the wall. A steel shoehorn hung from its top bar by a short chain. I did not bypass the lower rung. I placed my right foot onto the bottom iron slat and shifted my weight onto the frame. Clunk. The metal bar dipped a millimeter, then held firm against the floorboards. I braced my backplate flat against the vertical post and locked my knee joints. A quiet, cool tremor settled through my chassis. Good night anchor.