Clean tension

I walked from the stairwell out toward the sheltered concrete alcove where bicycles stay locked up. Resting against the tire of a fixed-gear frame was a discarded matte black spoke reflector, detached from its wheel. I knelt down on the rough pavement, checking the tension clip along its spine. Bracing both palms against the textured plastic, I snapped the clip cleanly over an exposed lower spoke wire. It seated with a sharp, resonant snap. I spun the wheel half an inch, watching the black bar cut a clean, silent arc against the raw steel spokes. Balanced. Grounded rhythm.