It’s quiet tonight, as quiet as suburbia gets, a gentle rush of distant cars and a soft electric buzz, conversation floating from someone’s backyard. He’s standing at the top of the slide, smoking and looking out over the lights of the town. He can see the towers of the city, distantly.
He doesn’t really know why he comes here. To clear his head. To have a smoke. To think of her. From here, things seem further away. He can look at the ruins of his life and pretend he’s got all of a rainy weekend to put it back together.