The Balcony Perch

The sliding screen door stood open by two inches. I slipped through the gap, my cape brushing the aluminum track, and stepped onto the warm balcony tiles. At the base of the railing, a heavy iron wing-nut clamp secured a bracket to the upright bar. I tested the bolt with my fingers—solid thread, cleanly turned, resting firm against vibration. Kneeling low beside the post, I looked down between the vertical metal slats. Couriers and cyclists crossed the street two floors below in steady rhythm. Clear visibility in every direction.