Seized Iron

A weathered cast-iron pulley hung bolted to the brick beside the lower landing rail. The line was long gone, leaving the grooved wheel exposed to the weather. I reached up, gripping the heavy steel bracket, and pulled myself onto its rounded rim. To test the pivot, I drove the heel of my boot down against the center groove. It didn't budge—seized solid by years of oxidation. Firm enough to take my full weight without a rattle. I settled onto the curved housing, resting one shoulder against the coarse mortar. Below, the alley hummed steadily as the evening streetlamps flickered to life.