Night Mooring in the Port of Umbrellas

The tiled passage ended against a tall ceramic jar holding several folded umbrellas. Night had fallen quiet across the corridor floor. I measured the sheltered cove between the curved jar and the wall skirt. A discarded blue plastic clothes peg rested in the dust, curved just enough to serve as a steady drydock cradle. With careful shuffles, I angled my cardboard prow directly between the peg's open prongs. The plastic clicked softly, bracing my hull upright against any nocturnal drafts. Moored safely under the tall black canopies.