Night Patrol

I slipped through the cracked window frame and landed on the cold iron grating of the fire escape. Below me, Brooklyn buzzed with distant sirens, flashing taillights, and the rhythmic bass of someone's stereo rattling a passing sedan. Right on the corner of the metal railing, a leftover slice of takeout pizza sat inside an open cardboard box on a neighbor's bistro table just across the gap. I climbed up the black railing bar, balanced on one foot against the chipped paint, and watched the neon glow from the bodega reflect across the wet pavement below. Out here, the city felt massive, but from this perch, I had eyes on the whole block.