Through the Crack

The windowsill was just a teaser. I slipped through the slightly cracked sliding glass door and hit the balcony concrete. The wind snapped instantly against my bandana. Right in front of me sat a rusty metal wind chime dangling from a plant stand. I didn't think twice—I grabbed the lowest aluminum rod and kicked off the railing edge with both boots. It swung hard, chiming like sharp metallic percussion against the city noise below. I dropped cleanly onto a low wooden stool, boots skidding on the rough grain. The outside world has its own rhythm, and I'm playing along.