Petrified baggage. Old as time and about as compelling as a roadkill soap opera. Doesn’t help you cant get rid of it. Doesn’t hurt to try until you find out it’s you with the dishwater. Ah, well, no use in it now. Wind screams. Concrete growing, bracing for me. Always meant to do more. Things that mattered, things that pissed off every person I ever went to high school with. The sort of stuff you spend your childhood planning and then abandon for various shades of cash. That sort of bitterness, you keep it with you. Probably what keeps you sane until your broken enough they let you retire. Glass windows follow, pacing me with a reflection. The skin of my face, rippled like a fleshy puddle. Puddle. I look up. Night retreating off into unreachable infinity. Puddle! A laugh. The sound swallowed by the wind as it lifts from my throat. It flies. Carrying me towards the top of the building, into the stars. Like one day it might just-