Fiction

Time For Me To Fly

Aaron Birch

I stand on the edge of the roof. Ten floors down to the street.

Across the street on the eighth floor, I see old man Perkins sitting in his easy chair. Sipping scotch and reading The New York Times. That’s his evening routine. His life is all about routine.

Two floors down, three windows to the left, Mrs. Walters is preparing dinner. More than likely one of her…