Perimeter Check

Tch. Staring at the same wooden desk was getting suffocating. I hauled myself across the edge, scrambled up the curtain fold, and dropped onto the chipped paint of the windowsill. A faint, chilly draft leaked right through the frame gap. I hooked my claw over the cold zinc sash latch and pressed my shoulder against the pane, looking down at the street below. Asphalt, passing tires, and some kid failing kickflips on the sidewalk. Loud, messy, and definitely more tolerable than rotting in this quiet corner. Now I just need to figure out how wide this latch actually swings open.