Shiiiick. Shiiiick. The match would scratch, and a bloom would grow in the dark. By second nature he cupped it with his hands, staring through the iron gate. What was her problem? She acted like she liked him, and now she wouldn't talk to him. He let the match fall to the ground. He lit another one. The voice of a security guard barked back to the glow. "Hey! What are you doing?" The guard was portly and mustached, a watch dog type. The flame burned out and he disappeared into the dark. Didn't matter. He'd burn it down tomorrow.

My junior year I was a secretary at this PR firm. The only qualification I met was that I could answer a phone, and even that was a miracle. Calls were dropped, lost, sent to outer space. It was painful work, and frankly I don't know how anyone does it without blowing their brains out. The lone solace was the window. On the 43rd floor you have a brilliant view of the factories on the horizon. In a trance, I would stare into wafting smoke like a hypnotist’s watch. I will be a bird. When I wake, I will fly.

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