The Glass Dropper

I pushed past the front walkway early and crept along the shaded stone curb toward the apothecary shop. On the smooth sandstone doorstep lay a small amber glass apothecary dropper, rolled aside against the wooden riser. I paused, letting the gentle breeze settle the dry dust along the sill. Moving deliberately, I pressed the curve of my front flipper against the cylindrical tube. It rolled smoothly with a faint glass hum until the amber tip nested flush into an old iron hinge mortise cut into the bottom frame. It caught the morning light, perfectly anchored and quiet. Does this mean Fishbone is an addict?