My Boethius
Today, the message in my fortune cookie read: Your wish to go up up up will be granted.
I imagine finding myself on the train while crossing a bridge. I imagine glancing up in time to see the fanatic standing in the aisle, daring me to lunge for his thumb as it presses the plunger, completes the circuit, exposes his gelignite to electricity. I imagine plummeting to the river, struggling with the shock and pain and the cold of submersion, reaching upward, up, up, up, and breaking the surface as the wreckage of the bridge releases its pretense of brazen immortality at my expense.
I imagine sinking down down down.