Picture this: Apartment interior, dusk. Josh, leg broken, wheels into a long, thin shadow. Lights from the building across the park shine like half moons in his binoculars. Outside, the neighborhood is alive with the sounds of children falling down, of leather hole-salers hawking their holes, and tape measures snapping back too fast. On the evening breeze, he catches the scent of flank steak sizzling on a neighbor's Xbox; his stomach rumbles, and he remembers the stipend. The stipend that never came. Now picture this: shoes that go backwards and forwards at the same time. That should give you an idea what this one is like.
Pairings: a CPAP machine; a functioning turbo button; some sick riffs to rick at the bar later