Twelve

White Mike loves rooftops. He would move to jump from rooftop to rooftop. He knows he never will.

It is saturday night and the city is bright and loud, but he is alone.

You will not be remembered if you die now. You'll be buried and mourned by a few and what more can you ask for? The world will spiral from underneath you and you are either too smart or too dumb to find God. Maybe you are angry. Only because the way out is through love. And you are just horny and lonely.
You have seen that before you lies a great stretch of road and it is wind swept or blasted by the hot sun or cover in snow or it is dirt or concrete or shrouded in darkness or bright and clear so you have to squint, but no matter what it feels utterly empty. But there are sons who have lost mothers and mothers who have lost sons so...we must live the best life we can.