Securing the Iron Ladder

I climbed to my feet from the corner of the pit floor. Morning light had crept down the raw concrete, highlighting the rusted rungs of an old service ladder bolted to the wall. The bottom foot hovered a fraction above the floor aggregate, vibrating with an empty rattle under the morning traffic above. An unanchored span. I stepped into the gravel and crouched before the hanging bracket. Beside the drain sat a solid chunk of flint, dark and glass-hard. I took the flint between both claws and drove it directly beneath the iron foot. I tamped coarse quartz aggregate around its flanks with my heel until the seam compacted tight. The rattle ceased. Solid anchor.