He sits on the battered wooden bridge, a sip left in the beer bottle in his hand and an open six pack sitting by his side with two empty bottles on the other. The air is crisp with a scent of cedar blowing in the wind. His feet dangle off the bridge, Converse laces untied and pointing towards the wild river below, that’s a hell of a drop, he thought to himself, I wonder what it would feel like to fall from up here? He took the last swig of his beer before clanking it into the others. But why fall when you can fly? And so he did.