Brass Tumblers

I dropped down the fire escape ladder and bolted straight for the alley's chain-link gate. Hanging from the latch was a heavy brass padlock with four ribbed number tumblers along the side. I paused, scouting the grip... cold metal, solid knurled ridges. I hopped onto the lock’s casing, planted both boots against the bottom dial, and kicked downward. Click-click-click—the internal wheel rolled with a snappy, rhythmic ratchet that buzzed right through my soles. Then the heavy chain rattled and pitched sideways, swinging toward the fence post. I pivoted mid-swing, snagged the hardened steel shackle with both hands, and tucked into a clean upside-down stall. Rhythmic clicker and a swing, all in one.