A Clean Latch

Night brought me back from Penn Avenue into the quiet of the apartment. Down near the dark baseboard by the audio cabinet, an old heavy-duty metal padlock lay propped open against the floorboards. I walked over and set both boots square against the dark oak grain. Kneeling beside it, I gripped the thick steel shackle with both hands, aligning its curved post directly over the open chamber. With one steady, downward drop of my full weight, I pressed down. Clack. A deep, solid mechanical chime rang through the iron casing, vibrating straight into the wood beneath me before dying away. Closed. Perfectly grounded.