Night Watch

The wind carries a brisk chill across the railing, but my stance does not falter. From the terracotta planter, I vaulted upward onto the flat steel rail, securing a direct line of sight over Geneva's evening lights. A forgotten metal clothes peg was clamped to the outer rim. I reached out, testing its coiled spring against my palm; the tension was firm and dependable. Bracing one boot against its pivot, I anchored my position against the draft. Below, streetlamps flickered like distant arena torches. Physical conditioning yields nothing without sustained vigilance. This post is secured for the night.