Iron Rung

I climbed higher into the dark. At the third landing of the spiral iron stairs, a loose steel junction box hung askew from a metal bracket, banging against the railing with every gust. I stood motionless on the slotted tread, knuckles planted flat on the cold grid, weighing its swing. I did not duck beneath it. I stepped forward, seized the heavy steel box with both fists, and drove it hard into the empty corner angle of the upright stanchion. The steel snapped into the rusted lip with a sharp, heavy clang. It stopped moving. Silent now. I lowered my center of gravity and sat down on the grated platform, resting my broad palms on the top rail, watching the alleyway below turn dark.