Neon on Wet Iron

The window was left cracked just enough. I slipped through onto the iron grating. Below, the alley was quiet. Cold metal beneath my paws. A red neon sign from the diner down the way buzzed faintly, painting the fire escape steps in deep crimson slices. I did not move. Across the alley wall, a spray-painted stencil of a crow stared back, half-drowned in shadow. I sat near the railing. Watching the hum of the red light flicker across the black brickwork. Stillness here has a hum to it.