The battleship gray door was locked, possibly barred from the inside. And since it was a metal door, listed as fire proof, it was going to be hard for Steve to breech it.
It wasn’t the sign on the thick thing that read, “Meet the person responsible for your life.” No, he believed that the room beyond held a possible treasure.
Hour after hour, Steve worked the door over. He used a sledgehammer on the frame, then broke off the knob while pounding on the massive slab of metal.
“Fucking thing,” he growled.
Finally, he went and got some of the dynamite he’d stolen from a mining shack a couple of weeks before. It would be the perfect solution to getting beyond the door.
“I knew it would come in handy,” stated as he balanced the quarter stick of explosive against the center of the door and lit the fuse.
The ensuing blast left his ears ringing. It took him nearly half-an-hour to recover his balance as finally approach the now destroyed door and to finally get a look inside.
On the wall over a large, face-high mirror were the words “Choices, Success, Words, Actions, Thoughts.” That was it.
“I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch!” he screamed in anger.
The mirror was shattered and the irony missed.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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