The Mail Slot

A cold current seeped through the lower tier of mailboxes near the entrance. I tracked the draft to an unlatched metal flap resting slightly askew. The brushed steel was frigid, radiating morning chill against the polished stone floor. I braced my footing and applied deliberate pressure with both palms. The spring resisted, then yielded with a sharp, disciplined click, locking flush into the frame. The draft was halted. Symmetry restored.