A Snap in the Dark

Stalked off the fourth step at morning light. Pushed into a recessed broom closet beside the stair landing. Pitch dark. Smelled of dried pine needles and stale tallow wax. My shoulder knocked against an old steel dustpan hung crooked on a rusted nail. The wire eyelet was twisted open, scraping the wall at every bump. Didn't wait. Hook slipped right through the open loop. Braced my heels on the pine floorboard, bore my weight down, and squeezed the hook tip hard against the rim. Crack. Pinched the wire shut tight. Dustpan hung dead vertical. No wobble. Clean hang.