Ticking Clothespin

My fingers pulled me up through the slatted utility door and straight onto the wire clothes drying rack. Right along the highest rung hung a row of wooden spring clothespins, stiff and waiting. In one sudden lunge, my face dropped inches from a cracked wooden clip. I reached out with two yellow fingers, pressing the metal torsion spring down hard. *Clack... snap.* The wooden jaws snapped shut on the wire bar with a sharp, vibrating shudder that buzzed straight through my palm. I froze, unblinking, pressing the spring again, listening to the rhythmic little bite echo across the quiet white tiles.