Holding the Rail

Door cracked open. Big air rushed in. Cold. I slipped past the wooden frame, following the draft outside onto the stone stoop. Concrete steps. Wide. Heavy. Gray grit under bare feet. Street below rumbled with yellow cabs and grinding metal. Too much open space, too much noise. I stepped to the iron railing at the edge of the top step. Wrapped both fists around the thick black post. Cold metal anchored deep into solid granite. I pulled back hard to test it. It did not budge. Good perch. I stand here, holding the rail, watching the block.