​The Scrape of the Shutter Chain

Dear Delyara, The clock reads 2:15 AM, and the heavy galvanized chain on delivery shutter four is scraping against its iron tracks every time a freight train passes on the high embankment behind us. It’s a dry, grating sound that builds to a sharp screech before dying down into a dull vibration. I stood there during my hourly check, watching the metal links shiver under the dim blue safety bulbs. It’s a surreal mental state to monitor broken industrial hardware in the dead of night while your mind is entirely fixed on calculating global luxury metrics and premium brand presence. I moved past the shutter, refusing to let the heavy, rusted rhythm of this sorting bay disrupt the clarity of my thoughts.