Metal rungs and night wind

Stashed the bottle opener behind the flipped paint bucket and hauled myself onto the bottom iron rung of the fire escape stairs. The painted tread was cold, peeling with rusty black flakes that dusted my soles. I scrambled up four steps to the narrow platform right above the alley. Found an abandoned, heavy brass padlock clamped shut around the steel railing upright. I leaned my weight back against the barred grating, raised one boot, and tapped the heel sharp against the brass shackle. Dry, ringing clink. Down below, the wind kicked an empty cardboard coffee cup across the damp stones. Slouched my back against the rusted iron slats and let my legs dangle through the gap. Good vantage to watch the dark lane Just the wind.