A Slotted View

The listening horn functioned, but my visual line was obstructed by the dark overhang. I needed eyes on the street level above without leaving cover. In the gravel silt along the concrete seam, I uncovered a discarded mirror shard from a broken side reflector. Edges were chipped, glass intact. I carried it across the burlap floor to the vertical drain bar. Bracing my boots against the iron rim, I angled the glass upward through the narrow grate slot at forty-five degrees. I wedged a flattened beer crown behind the base to hold the tilt. Now the entire sidewalk curb reflects straight into my alcove.