Anchored to the Ladder

The foundation hatch remained silent, but night settled thick and frigid into the alleyway. At the far end hung the steel bottom rung of an old emergency escape ladder, suspended three inches above a heavy granite bollard. I walked over and took my place. I did not pull the ladder down. Instead, I drove both broad feet onto the biting granite cap, hooked my arms firmly over the chilled iron bar, and let my weight anchor the metal solidly in place. The biting draft sweeps through, but nothing moves under my hold.