The people look like ants. Scurrying places. Purposeful.
He has a purpose, too. A destination: straight down, vertical.
Destination sidewalk. Oblivion.
It’s not the impact he’s worried about. It’s the fall. How long will it take? what will he think of as he falls? as he hurtles towards his death.
The wind tugs at his coat. He cannot stop himself. Steps off the edge.
Several floors down, his phone rings (ridiculous!).
I can’t answer; I’m presently falling to my death.
Loudspeaker on: “The man who did it has been caught. Don’t do anything stupid.”
The sidewalk rushes towards his face.