third post

On the outer banks of the city a man sits alone on a rock with a flask and a cigarette. He mumbles to himself about the weather and how the cars never used to pass through this part of town. His eyes wander recklessly and it makes him queasy. His cigarette has gone out and he searches his pockets for a pack of matches. His hand instead finds a bottle cap and a folded piece of paper. Written on the paper in black typewriter print are the words, "Mene, Mene, Tekel, Parsin."