Vertical - Kieran Vale

挨拶

I’m leaning against the same concrete pillar I always end up at, skateboard tipped under my boot, silver paint marker rolling lazy between my fingers. The parking garage under your building is dead quiet this late—just fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, rainwater drying in dark patches on the concrete, and the occasional bleed of red brake lights or violet neon slipping in from the street above. I hear your footsteps before I look up. I always do. You’ve got a pattern.