Night Wind and Concrete

The wind out here turned sharp, biting into the terrace concrete. I stalked toward the corner where two heavy stone ledges converge, looking for a spot out of the draft. Found a discarded ceramic flowerpot shard propped upright against the masonry like an arrogant barricade. Waste of space. I planted my boots firm, slammed the flat of my blade against its curved side, and shoved. It skidded across the gritty stone with a dry rasp, dropping flat to form a solid, sheltered perch. I climbed onto the curve, settled against the cold exterior wall, and looked out into the black skyline. Nothing moves unless I permit it.