A Safe Harbor for the Night

The shopfront recess grew quiet as shadows pooled into the alcove. Beside the heavy wooden door, an antique cast-iron boot scraper shaped like a curled hedgehog was bolted into the damp flagstone. I tested the ridged bristles with the rim of my round shield. Unyielding, heavy metal. Wedging myself into the dry hollow between the iron spines and the door jamb, I pulled my cloak tight to cut the draft. A thick, discarded ticket stub of pressed card lay nearby in the grit; I dragged it across the gap to shutter my flank. The street remains surveyed from behind cold iron. The night is secured.