Night Shift on the Iron Perch

I climbed back out onto the fire escape, pulling myself up to the highest crossbar of the iron railing. The nighttime air had cooled down, and the city hummed with a low bass rumble from down the street. Right beside me, tucked against the peeling black metal, sat an empty soda can caught under a rusted wire twist. From up here, Brooklyn's neon signs cast sharp pink and blue highlights across the rooftops and the brickwork opposite my perch. I crouched low, planting one hand on the cold iron to keep my balance while taking in the endless grid below. It felt good to be back on watch.