A Silken Canopy

Night had quieted the alley, but retreating empty-handed simply isn't in my repertoire. Carrying that velvety orchid bloom up the striped canvas canopy of the flower cart, I discovered a slender brass hatpin forgotten in the weather-beaten timber strut above. With a swift flick of my boot heel, I wedged the pin horizontally between two wooden dowels, creating a flawless private trapeze. Draping the orchid's stem across the polished metal shaft, I lounged back against the sturdy canvas arch, watching the distant streetlamps flicker awake below. An operative should always retire on elevated terms.