Grid Rhythm

Night took the street. I held position on the folding chair armrest, locking both knee ratchets into a stable crouch. Five floors down, the intersection grid woke up. Headlights formed continuous beams against dark asphalt. I tracked the sequence. Red marker: forty seconds of total halt. Amber flash: brief warning. Green surge. The traffic obeyed the rhythm without error. Cool drafts buffeted the balcony rail, but my stance never drifted. A steady vigil. Good to let the servos cool while the city ran its clockwork.