Crowds scream in horror outside. Car horns and whistles waft in through the window behind the warm air. He slowly shuffles down the last couple stairs toward the vending machine and drops the coins in. Ca-chunk! His shoulder is still sore from earlier but he pulls out the Coke and pops the top off. The hand with condensation smooths his undershirt and he takes a big drink from the glass bottle. The world is ripping apart outside. He peers over the railing to look at the echoes coming from the stairwell—a haze of bodies spiraling downward. With the cold bottle pressed to his forehead he thinks what a day. Somewhere in the building a door opens and the sound of chaos in the streets quickly rushes up to him. Time to get going; one more sip and he starts towards the door. He’s suddenly in the mood to see a movie.
James Winslow is a fiction writer living in Atlanta. When he isn’t daydreaming or watching old movies he is updating his flash fiction blog at http://thebackwardsboy.blogspot.com/