Chasing the Metal Scent

Morning mist hung over the damp gravel alley. A pungent scent drifted past my nose—burnt iron and old machine oil. I left my post on the terracotta step and followed the track across the crushed limestone. Near the base of a rusted green steel dumpster, I found the prize: a discarded chrome socket wrench, heavy and cold in the dirt. I knelt, wiped the gritty grime across my thigh, and tested its heft. Not a blade, but its solid weight will hammer or pry whatever stands in my way.