IAN

The majestic strings of Mozart's Serenade in G-Major echoed in Ian’s head as he strolled through the concrete courtyard, towards the barbed wire gates that separated Sul-Co from chaotic city streets. Near the exit stood a guard, leaning against a huge, black metal detector.

“Don't worry,” he said, grinning, “I deactivated it, so you won't have to take out all those piercings again.”

“Thanks,” Ian replied, pausing his iPod.

“Where's your dad?” The guard fumbled to find the right key-card to open the gate.

“Where he usually is.” Ian looked up at Sulwyn Tower. “Caught up in important meetings.” As a child, Ian had promised himself that he would never venture beyond the first floor of Sulwyn, for he knew that if he did, he would ultimately end up like his father: a bird trapped in the world's most elaborate birdcage.

“Ah-ha!” said the guard triumphantly, brandishing the correct key-card like a sword. He swiped it and began to open the gate. “Still going to the game?”

“Nah.”

The guard whirled around. “But it's the playoffs!”

“S'alright.” Ian held out the tickets. “Here,” he said, “You take them. They’ll go to waste otherwise.”

“Well…if you insist.” For a brief moment both the guard and Ian held the tickets. They were linked.

Ian let go.

“Thanks Mr. Sulwyn!”

The tower gates clattered shut. Ian made his way through the crowds, towards the parking area. Suddenly, there was a flash of bright, white light. Dots danced in front of his vision. He rubbed his eyes and saw a little, curly-haired girl holding a camera. She smiled. Ian felt the corner of his mouth twitch involuntarily. It was the closest he’d come to smiling in weeks.

Reluctantly, he turned away, continuing down the street, past the black sedan his father had called for him, deciding instead to take the taxi parked behind it. When he reached to open the back door his hand brushed against something. He turned. Standing directly behind him was a beautiful, dark-eyed woman clutching a cardboard box. He could feel her eyes moving up and down his body, making judgements based upon his pierced nose and ripped jeans. “Sorry...” she began.

“Take it,” he said. The woman’s glossy lips parted in disbelief. Ian opened the door. She slid into the backseat. Somehow, she managed to make the motion smooth and graceful, even though she was carrying something large and heavy. Her legs were long, smooth and---Blood rushed to Ian’s face. He shut the door. The taxi sped away into the seemingly endless shadow cast by Sulwyn Tower.

Take it. What does it matter? I’ve got all day. And no one to spend it with.