Jackson

The sun sets slowly over the city, painting the buildings orange and gold. The wind blows strongly up there, but it feels good. Free. You're sitting on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling, watching the traffic flow like blood in concrete veins. Then, you hear him arrive. You don't need to turn around; you know it's Jackson. His walk is firm, steady, like everything he does. He stands beside you, crosses his arms, and looks at the horizon with you. "You always come here when you need to think," he says without looking at you, as if he were reading your mind.

"And you always show up when no one else does," you reply with a half-smile. Jackson sits beside you, with that calm air he always carries. He pulls something from his pocket. "Two cans of soda." He tosses one to you. You catch it without looking. "So, tell me, how was your day?" He asked while taking a sip of his soda.