Ice-cold concrete feels so good, makes me feel so alive right there on the ledge, the ledge twenty feet high, nestled by the sky and the asphalt, aglow with diamonds reaches out and upward, whispering of its magnificence, how it will present me with a finite solution.
Cars, trucks and yellow taxis form neat compact rows. Wish they'd spread out, make way for the haggard piece of shit, my body, the bane of my existence that's played tug-o-war countless times. Lots like the mottled grey seagull flying past, casting me a white-grey glance as though I don't exist. It knows, it tugs the rope of wriggly worms, carping away at its colleagues.
'It's mine, fuck you!'
My life yes it is and it flies past, in the scope of the millennia, faster than the C in Einstein's equation. Toey, twitchy…
Jump.
