Grounded at the Sill

I sat on the wide stone windowsill, watching headlights cut sharp white lines through the dark street below. Beside my boot lay an old brass key attached to a thick, ribbed black lanyard. I pulled the fabric strap closer, draping its heavy weave across my knees like an extra utility belt. The dense canvas pressed firmly against my denim pants, keeping me anchored against the faint draft leaking through the glass. Down there, people rushed under the streetlights, but up here, it felt completely still.