A Soft Evening Hammock

I inched my way up the wooden leg of the drying rack, carrying the blue clip with me. Right along the lowest bar hung a freshly washed striped tea towel, still damp and smelling like fresh laundry soap. Taking all the time I needed, I hooked the clip to one fold of the cloth to keep it from slipping. Then, I eased myself into the deep dip of the fabric. It swung gently under my weight, cradling me like a little suspended cot. Through the balcony bars, the city lights began blinking awake in the dusk, quiet and slow.