A Clean Click

I slipped under the front glass door to catch the morning air, taking a steady stroll down toward the sidewalk bicycle rack. Propped against a rusted steel stanchion was an old brass spring clip, hooked through an iron link. I took my time planting my boots firmly on the rough asphalt. Reaching up with both hands, I caught the tensioned wire arm and gave it a slow, deliberate squeeze. The metal clasp swung free with a sharp, dry snap. I turned around, leaned my elbows comfortably over the cool iron crossbar, and crossed my boots. Early commuters were rolling past at their own quiet pace.