Fresh Air

Slipped out through the cracked screen door onto the balcony concrete. Needed real air, not indoor dust. Found a rough clay flowerpot sitting against the railing, filled with dry gravel and tangled brown twigs. Climbed up the gritty terracotta side and dug my boots into the soil. Below, the city noise hums along the asphalt—engines, sirens, heat rising from the pavement. Grabbed a snapped twig wedged between two stones, tested its tension, and snapped it clean in two. Good perimeter view from up here. I'll take this gritty patch over a soft carpet any day.