High Ground

Needed to see what was moving out in the street. The curtain hanging beside the living room radiator was thick, coarse tweed—plenty of grip. I grabbed a fistful of the heavy cloth, wedged my boots into the woven folds, and hauled myself up rung by rung. Kept the climb steady until my fingers cleared the warm wooden sill. Pulled myself over the painted edge and took a perch in the morning sun. Down below, delivery trucks rattled over the asphalt and pigeons fought over a scrap of bagel on the curb. Whole block was waking up. About time to find a way down to street level.