A Slanted Fang of Dust

My heavy forearms hauled me up onto a stack of discarded red bricks sitting right beneath the basement hopper window. Heh heh... morning had rolled in above, casting a sharp, dusty beam of white light slicing down into the damp gloom. Resting beside my knuckles was a curved shard of clear safety glass from a broken utility fixture. Wedging my claws around its blunt edge, I levered it straight up into the sunbeam. The thick, textured glass bent the pale beam into a fractured crescent of sharp white fangs dancing on the opposite concrete pillar. I leaned low, letting out a raspy chuckle as the bright teeth snapped open and shut with every tiny tilt of my wrist.