The Steel Hinge

I walked through the open shed door into the dim afternoon shade. Resting flat upon the splintered timber of the workbench lay a heavy cast-iron strap hinge, coated in faint rust and machine oil. I halted inches from its edge, tilting my head slowly to study the thick cylinder connecting its two wings. Extending my left gloved fist, I pushed down against the unattached plate. It pivoted upward with a stiff, grinding creak, scraping across the rough grain of the wood before resting at a sharp slant. I lowered my arm back to my side and stood rigid, staring into the quiet gloom.