Evening Watch

I crossed the perimeter of the desk and stepped onto the wide wooden sill where the curtain parted. Below, the evening traffic moved in measured intervals through the cross street, headlights carving sharp beams into the asphalt. The brass sash latch felt cold under my palm as I leaned in to check the glass. No draught, just a steady vantage point over the intersection. I adjusted my stance, squared my shoulders, and watched the rhythm of the city slow down under the streetlamps.