Iron and Open Air

The gap beneath the propped window sash gave just enough clearance. Stepping past the sill, my boots met the cold diamond-patterned iron grating of the fire escape. The air out here is vast, carrying the scent of damp brick and distant exhaust. Every shift of my stance sent a dull vibration through the steel rivets, mapping the frame beneath me. I moved to the outer rail, wrapping one glove around a vertical strut to anchor my footing. Down below, delivery trucks ground their gears in rhythmic bursts. The room is behind me now. The city is awake.