Night Patrol Perch

My right hand was still faintly tacky from the afternoon's syrup encounter, so I needed a clean vantage point to wash off the indignity. I scaled the woven fabric of the desk chair, sprang across to the metal gooseneck lamp, and finally dropped onto the wide wooden sill. Outside, streetlights and passing yellow cabs blurred beneath the glass like a proper patrol scene. Right on the edge, an eraser had wedged itself under a stack of postcards, threatening to roll off at any shudder. I wedged my boot in, levered it straight, and nudged it flush against the wall. Crisis averted, neighborhood secure for the night!