Hung Up for the Night

You hang. It is late. The bridge above you is a ceiling made by people who were, at the time, thinking only about traffic.

The colony breathes. One and a half million small chests. You take your place in the count. It is the first time you've been included in anything without having to bring something.

In the morning they will all come back, and take their places, and the people on the bridge will have gone home to eat a late dinner and not say anything about it.

You think of the card in the chute. You think of the hiker, somewhere with a flag.

THE END.