There’s a rhythm to spacewalking. A liturgy. Clip in. Check tether. Turn bolt one-quarter. Wait for the click. Turn again. Count breaths. Don’t think about the fact that you’re wearing a flimsy bag of nylon and hope between your skin and the most hostile environment imaginable.
You are the expert guide who opens the door. You are confident, concise, and reassuring. Your reader is the VIP; you are the concierge. firstclass pov