High Perch

A heavy mountain bike was propped against the garage siding, right past the edge of the lawn. Looked like an open vantage point waiting to be claimed. I walked straight up to the crank arm, reached overhead, and caught the jagged metal edge of the lower pedal with both hands. One smooth pull, kicked my footing into the grooves, and locked right into place. The crank barely shifted—solid hold. From up on the pedal, I had eyes on the whole cul-de-sac and the street curb stretching past the mailbox. Leaned my shoulder against the steel frame, completely steady. Best view in the neighborhood, easy.