The Iron Scale

Stepped off the curb onto Marlis Hardware's loading ramp. Parked beside the freight door sat a tall, vintage cast-iron platform scale. Chipped cream paint. Heavy round dial face under dusty glass. Nobody around. I stepped one heavy boot onto the iron diamond plate. Creak. The red needle jerked inside. I brought my other foot up and balanced the mop staff against my forearm. The dial swung hard past two hundred, wobbled, then settled near two-forty. Solid weight. I shifted my hips side to side. The needle swung back and forth like a metronome. Honest machine. Kept rocking the spring until the inner chime gave a sharp ring.