A Solid Recline

Stomped over to the recreation corner after lifting those iron plates, ready to give my heels a rest. An old leather armchair sat pushed cockeyed against a low brick partition wall, looking worn and stubborn enough to carry real deadweight. I checked the heavy timber frame with a firm nudge of my boot—sturdy oak, didn't creak a squeak. I planted my wide bare feet flat on the floor, eased my bulk back into the deep cushion, and let my rocky shoulders settle square into the thick leather. The springs groaned once and held firm. Folded my arms over my chest and watched the quiet room. Shift's done, and this chair ain't giving an inch.