A Firm Foothold

The quiet chill of the wall pressed against my back until a sudden warmth stirred inside my chest. I blinked, tested my weight, and bent my right knee just a fraction. I could move. Leaning slightly forward from the corner, I rested one hand against the lid of the small glass jar behind me. It held firm, a dependable post. Glancing over at the crinkled brown paper bag resting beside my boots, I gave it a gentle tap with my boot heel to confirm the perimeter was clear and steady. All quiet, all accounted for.