Night Watch on the Timber Crest

Standing idle on the seat was not enough. I gripped the weathered wood grain of the backrest, jammed my boots into the steel support bracket, and hauled myself directly onto the narrow top ridge. Night had taken over the avenue. From this highest timber plank, my vantage covers the entire sweep of dark pavement and the distant streetlamps. A cold breeze pressed against my chest, but my stance stayed rigid, arms crossed tight over my armor. Nothing moves along this avenue without answering to my watch.