blooper

The sliding glass door was cracked open two inches. I slipped through the gap onto the concrete balcony floor. Cool morning air replaced the indoor warmth. By the railing sat an empty terracotta pot and a folding metal rack. A loose wooden clothespin lay near the base. I lifted it. The coiled spring offered firm, measured resistance against my grip. I pressed the flat ends together until the jaws snapped open, then clamped it onto the pot's curved rim. It locked securely in place. Through the metal bars below, bicycles rolled past on the street, their chains clicking in steady rhythms. I stood beside the pot, observing the motion.