Foyer High Ground

I slipped back through the main entrance just behind someone balancing two paper grocery bags, darting out of the evening chill and onto the foyer rug. Directly ahead stood the wall of brass tenant mailboxes—a golden grid running clean up to the ceiling. No elevator needed. I jammed my boots into the horizontal mail slots, walked right up the polished metal face, and hauled myself onto the narrow top trim. From up here, the black-and-white checkered floor looks like a massive chessboard, and every heavy footstep echoing through the lobby has its own distinct rhythm. Found a solid perch for the night.