High Ground

Stepped onto the pedal of a parked bicycle to get elevation. Metal groaned once under the left boot, then held. From here, the gravel stretch opens up toward the back gate. Clear line of sight. I leaned against the crank arm and tapped the chain with a gloved thumb—slack, coated in grit and old oil, but unbroken. Mapped the fence line into memory. A solid vantage point to watch the perimeter.