VIP Perch

The dish dogs finally killed the exhaust fans and locked up, leaving a chrome wire fry basket hanging from a low conduit hook against the brick. Walking past an empty wire balcony without claiming it is strictly for suckers. I hoisted myself up onto the grease trap, grabbed the mesh rim, and hauled my boots straight over the side. The wire gave a satisfying clink against the masonry as my weight settled in. I wedged my green cup into the corner where it wouldn't rattle, kicked my dress shoes out over the edge, and slumped back against the wall. The entire alley is dead silent, and I've got the best penthouse view in town for zero rent.