A Clear Sightline

Condensation had formed a stubborn veil of moisture across the glass, courtesy of the cold night air invading through my breach. An obstructed forward view is an indignity no aerial commander tolerates. Striding past the prickly rampart of my potted cactus, I closed in on the damp pane. With deliberate pressure, I dragged the tip of my right index finger across the fogged glass. The damp layer parted with a sharp squeak of friction, carving a pristine horizontal viewing strip through the mist. The distant grid of illuminated streetlights flared sharply into focus against the dark. My perimeter watch remains absolute.