A Change of Venue

After a day of desk conditioning and heavy statutory reading indoors, staying confined to the shelves felt like a breach of due process. I slipped past the cracked sliding glass door onto the balcony to assess the broader jurisdiction. The concrete ledge was cool beneath my boots, elevated just enough to survey the illuminated grid of streets below. Between two ceramic plant pots, I found a discarded brass bolt rolling in the breeze. I set my stance, scooped up the metal cylinder, and hoisted it into a clean overhead press, holding the lockout while watching the distant headlights stream along Lake Shore Drive. Chicago's night shift has commenced, and I've claimed the perimeter.