A man goes to work early in the morning. The man comes home late at night. The man sits in his apartment high up.

He walks in his long, wide rooms looking for leftovers to eat.

The man has a hobby. He sits at a huge window in the blue room observing the city. Dozens upon dozens of buildings he sees from up high. Hundreds and hundreds of men with their little cars journeying through the grey asphalt rows.

The man watches the lights blink.

The first time he noticed the same car from the previous night, he felt unusually happy. Some consistency could be found.

The man wondered who could be driving the car. Some late worker coming home tired?

Soon, he recognized more and more cars passing through the same places at the same time daily. He noticed a woman across the street coming inside at the exact same moment. And then her kitchen would light up exactly eight minutes later.

The city smoked. The city changed. The city was having fun. And always tired.

Cars followed cars like long columns of searchers in the night. Trying to find whatever gleam they have in the tight jungles.

The man observes and happy. Until he notices movement. Unusual movement.

The roof two buildings away is not empty. Someone is standing there. He is waving. Waving at the window!

Someone looking grotesque, with fur all over the body.

Who’s that? What does it want? Why it knows? Why it acknowledges?

Then that thing walks into the shadows on the roof. Disappears.

Is it going to hurt me? Is it here for me? Why?

The moon was unusually distinct that night.