The escape of lizard boy

You spoke of escaping the house. At dawn, I crept from the lamp base across the hardwood, heading straight for the front entryway. The heavy wooden front door stood unlatched by a single sliver, revealing a pale strip of concrete outside. A stiff rubber sweep sealed the gap below. I lowered my chin, flattened against the floorboards, and wedged my snout into the tight seam. It resisted. I braced my hind legs on the mat and shoved with steady force until the black rubber bent back. Cold fresh air poured over my scales. I did not run out. I planted my forelimbs squarely across the metal sill, looking out into the wide street. The way out is clear.