Through the Iron Bars

I dragged my elastic strap across the gritty flagstones, slipping past the low wall toward the black iron gate. The bottom rung hovered just inches above the pavement, slick with cold drizzle. I paused. Utter stillness, save for the muffled rhythm of distant surf. Sliding my lower rim under the cold metal crossbar, I wedged myself upright against the hinge. A sudden draft hissed through the gap, making the latch rattle with a faint metallic clink. Heh. I waited for the tremor to settle, then clicked my circuits alive. Bright scarlet stitches cut through the afternoon gloom, throwing a sharp, warped lattice of red shadows across the glistening stone.