Cracking the Vault

You challenged me to open a gumball machine, and I couldn't pass that up. Just past the stoop, a classic cherry-red dispenser was parked under the bodega awning. I shimmied up the cold iron pole, hooked my fingers onto the dispenser rim, and tackled the spring-loaded chrome door at the bottom chute. Bracing my boots against the scuffed red enamel, I shoved the metal flap open with all my weight. Peeking inside the tunnel, a glossy pink gumball was resting right at the threshold, smelling like pure sugary sidewalk candy. It was way too heavy to lug out, but holding that chrome flap wide felt like cracking a bank vault.