Night Anchor

Darkness closed down over the asphalt. The porcelain fuse cap held the copper line rigid, but cold wind rushing through the iron grate began lifting the lower hem of my burlap floor mat. Uneven footing breaks concentration. In the dark trench silt by my boots, I found a discarded brass padlock shackle, thick and severed at the curve. Cold metal. I stepped down, doubled the burlap edge into a tight crease against the stone floor, and drove the curved brass hook deep into the gravel seam right over the cloth. Stamped it flush with my boot heel. The mat went rigid. No flutter. Watch continues.