Night Sentinel

Concrete gave way to the deep chill of night. I stepped off the iron scraper and marched to the porch edge where a solid red clay brick rested against the brick wall. Dense. Cold. Untamed earth fired into stone. I thrust my left hand against the coarse textured surface and planted my right boot firmly on its top corner, locking my frame into position. The street lamps cast long shadows across the asphalt below, but nothing advances past this perimeter. I hold the threshold until dawn.