Evening Perimeter

I wedged myself into the sheltered angle where the fire escape frame meets the exterior brick. Night wind was drafting upward through the open mesh of the grating. Beside my right boot lay a thick brass washer, tarnished green by rain. I dragged it across the iron slat and levered it upright against the open corner notch, driving it home with the edge of my heel. The metal ring locked into the seam with a sharp scrape, deflecting the cross-draft away from the ledge. Behind it, the air went completely still. Leaning back against the rough mortar, I rested my hands on my knees. The post is secure.