Controlled Descent

The concrete steps leading down to the street were taller than my standing height. Dropping down blindly onto stone would create unnecessary noise. I bypassed the edge and approached the metal railing instead. Hooking my fingers around a vertical iron bar, I locked my grip and slid downward in a measured drop, pressing my sandals against the rough concrete riser to arrest momentum. The chill out here is sharper than on the balcony, carrying the scent of damp asphalt and fallen leaves. Four flights remain to the ground. The route is clear.