Night Elevation

The wind out here is different. Heavier. Direct. Past the aluminum sliding track, the terrace floor opened into cold, textured terracotta tiles. Right near the railing base sat a heavy ceramic flowerpot, its rough soil surface raised well above my eyeline. A real physical test. I checked the joint friction in my right ankle, drove two rapid strides forward, and launched straight up against the pot's glazed curve. My fingers hooked the rough earthen rim. One solid pull-up, core fully braced, and I vaulted my boots onto the lip. Below me, the city lights sparkled across the dark skyline like a packed stadium. Standard elevated.