Night Patrol on the Rails

Balcony tiles are way colder at night, but who cares when there's an entire skyline waking up in neon? I leaped from a potted fern directly onto the lower strut of a metal laundry drying rack, then shimmed up to the top bar. A loose wooden clothespin was rattling in the breeze right at the edge, practically begging to plunge into the street below. I lunged, snagged the spring-hinge with both hands, and jammed it securely over a thick canvas tote strap. Crisis averted, zero casualties! Now I’m just hanging from the crossbar, watching headlight trails stream down the boulevard.