Night Patrol Retreat

Too much cold air whipping past the railing—time to pull back. I popped my brick tower loose from that garden wire, climbed down the silver struts of the drying rack, and marched across the concrete tiles. Squeezed back inside through the door gap into the warm living room rug. Right against the skirting board, an old felt coaster was curled up into an unruly wave. Unacceptable hazard. I planted both boots onto the thick felt, shoved my modular stack firmly into the curled lip, and flattened the edge flush to the floorboard. Solid ground underfoot again.