My shoulders filled the cramped circumference of the can and the ache of immobility crept into my joints after the guard's sixth or seventh circuit. In the long sabbaticals between each pass, my mind drifted to thoughts of my impending fortune; a Black Sea home, a flat in Istanbul, liberation from this confinement that had been my limited life.

The initial rustling scratches at the steel below my feet came just as night fell beyond the two small skylights visible through my fissure. The first big rats came in quick sorties, running along the walls one by one. But within the next three guard passes that measured an hour, the floors were being crisscrossed by them, the constant flashes of the red dots on the motion detectors betraying their nightly invasion to uncaring defenders.

I could see it was dark enough to do it, and I resolved to go after the guard's next pass, but before he could come I was startled by another visitor, in the can with me. A young rat had slipped through a small hole in the bottom and scrambled about, unaware or uncaring of the giant above him. I felt him scurrying around from morsel to morsel and I concentrated on the gnashing of his tiny teeth in an attempt to ignore the stiffening ache in my knees and back. My little friend not only ate but jealously guarded the small entrance as well, biting at any strange nose poking in. The drama playing itself out at my feet made me laugh. There we were, both of us rats, earning our living in the trash. 'If only you had the chance to better your condition,' I whispered down to my friend. I wondered if he could possibly know that he would eventually become too fat to leave and would be trapped inside the can. Probably not.

The roaming rats scattered with the approaching footsteps of the guard. I readied the pack of supplies beneath my feet and clutched the wood grip of the pistol as he passed close, the danger palpable, the reward tangible.

I eased off the top of the can and carefully stood up, stretching my legs slowly until the blood began to flow again. My eyes never wavered from the open end of the lit entrance hallway as I sat the pack down and tucked the gun into my waistband. Faint television noise still flowed into the dark gallery. I had to urinate very badly and cast a longing glance at the small male silhouette on the bathroom door before taking my first catlike steps toward the back wall.