I Slipped

In the pitch-black night, a man sits slouched on a bus stop bench. He listens to rain that pelts the roof above him. As he looks at the ground, his bare, pasty-white, feet are briefly illuminated. A car is driving along the empty downtown street. He is once again reminded of his sorry appearance, wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and heart-print boxer shorts. His glasses flicker with reflected light as he watches the black sedan drive by. He scratches his scraggly beard in self-comfort.

What did that guy think of me? He probably called me pathetic- or laughed at me... or both.

The rain sounds like its starting to lighten up, maybe I should keep walking. The man stands up from the bus stop and begrudgingly walks in the sprinkling rain.

I don't even know what to do; they threw me out of the house with nothing. I can't get back in the house to get my wallet, which means I can't buy anything or get a hotel room. My only option is to find some shelter to sleep for the night. I don't want to sleep under some bridge soaking wet. That would suck.

While walking, lost in thought, he spots a building to his left across the street. He stops and stares. The building's awning, lit up by a street lamp, reads "Ron's Sub Shop." Above it rise many apartment buildings. He walks a little farther and notices the fire escape on the side of the building.

I've never seen this shop before; is it new? Not like I would know, I never go outside. The place does look pretty tall...

Am I really think that?

He walks across the street, not even concerning himself with using the crosswalk. He stops to examine the fire escape. It seems as though I can reach it if I jump.

He gives himself a running start, jumps, and with one hand grabs the ladder to the fire escape. Swaying back and forth, he uses that momentum to get his other hand onto the ladder. He climbs the ladder and makes it to the platform in front of the stairs.

That might have been one of the most athletic things I've ever done. I'd usually fall flat on my face attempting something like that.

He pauses to look up at the fire escape, imagining the daunting climb awaiting him. Am I really going to do this?

The man stands frozen still, his heart starts to pound. While his body is still, his mind begins racing, remembering exactly what he does not want to.

***

The man sits at a desk in a dark room staring at a computer, his headphones blasting music. He types away on a keyboard crusted with gunk. To his right on a large "L"-shaped desk is a sea of empty soda cans. To his left, a bed, blankets and clothes thrown randomly on top.

Pounding rattles the door behind him. As he swivels in his office chair to face the door, his feet hit several trash bags, knocking them over and spilling cans, plastic bottles, and paper fast food boxes across the barely visible hardwood floor. He kicks more garbage out of the way as he moves to lock the door.

"You're a twenty-seven-year-old man sitting in that dark and disgusting room all day!" The loud, deep, and gruff voice of an older man penetrates through the door and even through the man's headphones.

"How can you sit in there for five years, wasting away?"

"You get kicked out of college and fired from your job, and just give up?" The older man's voice now straining as he yells to the closed door.

"We didn't raise a failure and a loser!"

***

The man is snapped back to the present after remembering that last remark.

If I'm a loser then no one would care if I did it... But my heart is pounding, and I'm shaking. Who am I kidding, I'm too scared.

He turns around and puts his feet back on the ladder of the fire escape. While climbing down, he hears police sirens in the distance, followed by tires screeching and a loud thud. He stops and looks toward the street to see a white pickup truck speeding away from a lump in the road.

He makes it down and to the edge of the sidewalk. He takes a closer look at the lump. A dark gray shaggy dog is lying in the middle of the road. It tries to stand; its back legs move while the front ones don't.

Looks like that guy hit the dog and drove off. Judging by the sirens, he must be running from the police. Poor thing; seems like its front legs are broken. Should I help it?

He hesitates, debating. Two police cars comes speeding into view.

Whoa, they're going really fast for a city street. Will they see the dog? That doesn’t matter; with the wet roads, they might not be able to stop. Should I help?

The man rushes into the street to try and pick up the dog, before the police cars run it over. Just as he is about to reach the dog, he slips.

Ah, of course I slipped. This is to make up for my surprising athleticism with the fire escape.

I'm such a failure.

As his face slams into the pavement, the first police car, barreling towards them, slams on its brakes. The tires scrape on the wet asphalt as the car begins to slide. The back end swings forward. The car turns mostly sideways as it slams into the man and the dog.

What's happening?

Everything is black, where am I?