Leap to the Iron Rail

Enough staring through clear glass like a polite little display piece. I shoved past the propped-open balcony door and bolted straight out into the midday glare. Right at the rim sat a rusted terracotta planter, sprouting spiky succulents and a forgotten metal clothespeg. I hit the planter rim at a sprint, pushed off hard with my bare toes, and caught the round black iron rail above with a reckless snap of my hands. My legs whipped forward over empty air, framing the sprawling hillside tiles of Quito way below. Just the right amount of kick.