Just For One Day

3

     It was the late afternoon into the early evening. The sun beat down on the city, coating the buildings with an iridescent glow the color of rich honey. Inside, the inhabitants hustled and bustled, working with the buzz and hubbub of an ant hill that is anxious to get back home. It was almost rush hour, meaning that the streets were more deserted than usual with an emptiness like the calm before the storm; when the offices, labs, and businesses would spew forth their employees in a tidal wave of humanity. Outside of one particularly empty intersection, I sat in a parked car with my friend and waited.

     We sat with our arms crossed, staring at a building on the other side of the street. A glowing neon sign announced that it was the Law Offices Of Pulitz, Pulitz, McReedy, and Pulitz, a law firm known for dealing almost exclusively with small claims court. It was Sunday, and the entire office had been given the day off in celebration of the winning of a particularly important case involving the mayor, a horse, and a jar of extra hot chipotle pickles. This was not common knowledge to anyone outside of the firm, but in the age of technology almost anything was possible with enough patience.

     "How long do you think it will take him?" I asked.

     "Dunno," replied my friend. "But he's been in there for two hours now, so probably not much longer."

     I put my head against the headrest and sighed. After a moment, my friend started to tap out a tattoo with his fingers on the steering wheel. I pursed my lips and buzzed in imitation of a kazoo. This went on for some time.

     A commercial for a blood pressure drug with particularly heinous side effects came on the radio. Outside the car, a pigeon flew into a window and fell away, leaving a dusty outline on the glass.

     "Did you see that?" I asked.

     "What?" said my friend.

     "That bird just flew into a window," I pointed at the pigeon, which had gotten up and was glancing around furtively to see if anyone had noticed.

     "Maybe it's an undercover window inspector," my friend replied.

     "That's ridiculous, dude." Satisfied that it could be free of embarrassment, the pigeon squawked its way into the air in a cloud of feathers and urban filth.

     "Pigeons can have dreams, too."

     "If I didn't know better, I'd ask if you were high."

     "High on life, chum," was all he said. "High on life."

     The sun lowered itself further behind the skyline, and we squinted with the shift of light.

     "Okay, seriously, this is getting ridiculous-" I began to say.

     "Wait, there he is!" my friend cut me off. "On the rooftop!"

     I followed his gaze up to the top of the building, where a caped figure had just come out of the rooftop exit and was making its way to the edge.

     "Go," said my friend, fiddling with the door handle.

     I opened my door and stepped out, breaking into a jog away from the building we had been casing. I started unzipping the jacket I had been wearing. As I pulled my arms out of the sleeves I picked up speed and tore my ballcap off of my head, flinging it behind me. My surroundings were a blur now as I tore through the empty street. Finally, I hung a u turn and headed back toward the law firm, settling a domino mask onto my face which covered my eyes. There were clear lenses set into it which kept the wind out, which was now whooshing past my face and ruffling my hair. Faster and faster I went as I approached the law firm until finally I was close enough to the wall and I leapt, feet hitting the side of the building. I continued to run, my momentum carrying me up the building toward the roof.