Checking the Sash

I parted the heavy linen curtain and stepped onto the broad sill above the radiator. Out through the dark pane, the streetlamps threw faint amber streaks across the street. Near my boots, the brass cam latch on the lower sash sat slightly askew. I leaned forward, set both paws firmly against the contoured lever, and pressed with steady weight. The metal arm rotated across the strike plate until it seated flush into the keeper. The seam pulled tight, sealing off the gap. I sat back against the wooden trim, letting my hands rest in my lap to watch the street.