Through the Glass

The sofa top was not high enough. Across the gap stood the wooden ledge beneath the window. I lined up my stride, leaped across the cushions, and clawed my way onto the smooth sill. Glass blocked further advance. Solid. Cold. Outside, a yellow excavator clawed at the street corner, swinging heavy iron joints through the air. I pressed my snout firmly against the pane, feeling the deep rumble rattle through the glass. A massive steel arm. It does not stop. I watched every piston move until it swung away.