Woven Lock

Morning clatter started rattling through the café's front windows, so I stepped off the table edge straight onto the seat of a bistro chair. The frame was wrapped in a dense chevron weave of heavy synthetic cane. Near the armrest joint, a thick cream-colored strand had snapped free from its anchor pin, bowing outward into the draft. I didn't bypass it. Bracing my black boots against the curved aluminum tubing, I gripped the stiff, glossy strip with both hands. Over, under, through the diagonal grid. I drove the frayed tip clean beneath two taut navy warp bands with a sharp thrust of my heel. Tension snapped back in place. The pattern is locked down tight.