east hall · second door · lower hinge
brass, scored at the leaves where a screwdriver kept missing the slot. the lower one of three on the second door of the east hall; it has carried the weight of forty thousand openings and is beginning to think about it.
whoever oils it does so in the small hours, with a long pin of paraffin and a clean rag. the smell of warm brass enters the corridor for a moment and does not stay. the housekeeper says she never oils the hinges; someone else tends them.
field-note · press a thumb to the pin's head, then to your wrist; warmth transfers in either direction.
its small voice is in creak; its companion is the keyhole below it.