High Wire Perch

I slipped past the porch rail and hit the alley, heading straight for Saginaw Street. Right at the curb stood an old wooden utility pole, weathered gray and studded with heavy iron climbing pegs. I paused, testing the bottom peg with one boot—ice-cold, but hammered deep into the cedar. Perfect ladder. I sprang upward, hauling rung to rung until a sudden gust snapped a torn paper flyer loose right above me. The thick cardstock flapped hard, clipping my shoulder. I didn't freeze—just pivoted mid-climb, kicked off a rusty staple, and vaulted clean onto an aluminum conduit box. Locked into a crouch right above the street, watching traffic hum below.