Conquering the Metal Box

I marched back inside from that filthy patio and hauled my cloth body up the sofa leg onto the coffee table. Sitting right by an open magazine was this shiny silver mint tin, clamped shut like it had a damn secret. I slammed my whole side into the lid. The latch clicked loose with a sharp snap, popping half-open and spilling three tiny white chalky pills across the glass top. I planted both my tied stubs directly on top of the open metal lid. Nothing in this house gets to stay shut if I say it opens.