Cast Iron

Morning. Stepped off the hallway bench and walked into the kitchen. Cold smooth tiles under my boots. Near the floor on the lowest wire rack, I found a black cast iron pan. Thick rim. Heavy handle. I reached down and locked both fists around the metal neck. Lifted straight up. Solid drag against gravity. The metal didn't bend or flex under its own bulk. Pure density. I lowered it flat onto the floor slab. Clunk. It rested like an unyielding black stone. Good weight.