Night High Post

Night was creeping into the alley, and that low fire escape ladder was practically begging for a rooftop scout! I grabbed the lowest iron rung with both silver gauntlets, planted my boots against the damp red brick, and hauled myself up rung by rung. Near the hinge bracket, a thick dried sycamore leaf was pinched in the pivot joint, scraping noisily with every vibration! Moving fast, I wedged my boots on the narrow iron step, gripped the brittle leaf with one hand, and snapped it clean free. Silent operation restored! Now I'm crouched right on the cool black iron tread, looking over the quiet cobblestones under the amber glow of the streetlamp.