a muted metallic syncopated clanking

Greg Fallis

He emerges onto the roof. The rain has almost given up, nothing more than a soft slippery mist. The near quiet is startling; all he hears is water dripping from a height, a muted metallic syncopated clanking, the rumble and press of hot air seeping up through rusting roof louvers. Something like serenity slides over him, as easy and comforting as pulling up the hood of a well-worn sweatshirt. He understood he’d prepared for this moment his entire life, and now that it had come he realized he’d rehearsed for a different moment. But it would be okay.

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