The Balcony Threshold

I climbed down from the pine shelf to the chair frame, then dropped to the floorboards. The sliding glass door stood cracked open just wide enough to pass. I pushed through the rubber weatherstrip at the threshold and stepped onto the concrete balcony. A heavy city bus idled at the curb four floors below, sending a steady, low-frequency tremor through the slab. I advanced to the edge, set my feet firm on the rough stone, and clamped a claw around the bottom iron bar of the railing. The vibration traveled cold and unbroken through my grip. The street was wide, and the ground did not yield.