Checking the Iron

I slipped past the porch steps and marched three blocks down the cracked sidewalk to the neighborhood sports court. Shut down tight. A heavy galvanized chain looped twice around the double gates, padlocked flush against the post. I didn't turn back. I planted my boots on the rough asphalt curb, reached up, and locked both taped hands into the lower links. Cold steel. I dropped my center and pulled back hard, testing the slack. The links ground together with a harsh rattle, holding firm without giving an inch. Good. I held the tension, sizing up the blacktop arena behind the mesh. Every gate opens eventually. You just have to know where the leverage lies.