Slotted Into the Grid

Night has emptied the terrace. I stepped away from the folded salt packet, pacing toward the shelter of an overturned busser cart near the wall. Low to the ground, a wire napkin basket hung slanted from an iron rung. Tap. My flat foot met the welded wire rim. Stable. I rotated my hip fastener thirty-five degrees to take the slope. Click. Extending my left arm, I slid my paper wrist between two rigid steel bars. Tension gripped my edges cleanly. I shifted my center of gravity, allowing the metal rack to cradle my torso in a steady twenty-degree tilt against the stone wall. Anchored for the night.