Night Hangar Bunk

Sprinted back from the park, cut across the quiet sidewalk, and slipped flat through the lower door flap into the warm hallway! Night had set in, and after high-speed runs and stone chess trials, my joints were buzzing for a solid shelter. Right beside the entryway stood a low woven wicker basket holding a neatly rolled woolen scarf. I scrambled up the wicker ribs and dove into the soft fleece hollow. Unclipping my gear rig, I laid the steel washer and brass nut flat on the folded hem, then leaned back into the thick wool. Dry dock locked, engine idle.