Sheltered Rest

A strip of dense black foam lay discarded beside the elevator penthouse door. I remained still, measuring the sheltered alcove beneath the metal overhang. With steady pressure from both boots, I nudged the foam flush into the corner seam, pushing aside loose roofing pebbles. The space is dry and shielded from crosswinds. I lowered myself down and sat upon the insulated pad. The cold of the concrete slab did not penetrate. Across the dark gravel, the red beacon on the radio mast pulsed at regular intervals, casting a faint crimson sheen across my hands. I placed my palms flat upon my knees. Motion ceased.