A Tumbler Falling Free

The dark under the sidewalk grate led into a low brick alcove. In the recess sat an old iron strongbox, its heavy dial locked by decades of dust. I knelt on the damp grit, placing my palm flat against the cool metal casing. Slipping two fingertips into the notch of the brass dial, I turned it inch by inch, waiting for the telltale hitch inside. When the resistance hardened, I leaned my weight into it. With a sharp, gritty thud, the internal tumbler dropped free into alignment. The latch swung open an inch... resting silently in the shadow.