Against the glass pane he pressed the forehead. There he leaned and watched the sun burn through the dried palm leaves. His eyes met the flames and starred therein. They then shut and against the eyelids he saw red, blue, green moving orbs.
He tapped the glass, hoping the walking people below would look up and see him. Instead a woman leaning against one of the nearby shelves spoke to him through cold eyes—stop that.
He smiled in response; she swiftly tilted the head back down at the book in the hands.
He turned and leaned against the window, glowing with light from a dusking sun. His eyes ran over her, measuring—giving substance with which to imagine.
She then went away, just as the sun had done behind him. With no warmth left, he smashed the glass window with a chair and jumped therefrom. He flew and became free—never worrying again about the future.
