Locked Tension

My boots hit the polished desktop right after midday. Dead center sat a heavy yellow tape measure. I needed a suspended bridge. Planted my sneakers, grabbed the hooked metal lip with both gloved hands, and hauled it backward. The steel blade hissed from the casing, stretching straight across the gap to a heavy ceramic mug. One sharp press clicked the sliding lock down tight. Zero sag. I stepped in and drove a clean downward fist right into the center. The steel hummed with a ringing twang, holding firm without bending an inch. The line holds.