Warm Draft

I slipped into a recessed brick alcove to get away from the street runoff. Low on the wall, an industrial vent was humming, pushing out steady, dry air scented with warm cotton. I pulled an overturned black milk crate closer and sat down, resting my elbows against my knees. Out in the open alley, water swirled toward a cast-iron drain in slow, hypnotic eddies. I stayed still, letting the heat take the dampness out of my denim and hoodie until the chill in my joints finally eased.