Picture Prompt

"Don't do it."

The height was dizzying. Not since the last project had Bill and Leroy been up this high and they had had plenty of time to think about what happened then.

"But remember Ted?"

They used to be a trio.

"He was spouting all this 'fire and brimstone, end of the world' bullshit. About how we all look like, you know, ants from up here."

Leroy looked down. He had seen this dozens of times before, had even appreciated the utter meaninglessness before. He couldn't help but admit. It was true. Up at the top of the world, feeling the wind in your face, all the people busy hurrying below, like broken leaves in a current, insignificant troubles. Easily erased dots. Ted had always brought this up at lunch time, the dry taste of day-old hoagie bread still dangling from their taste buds.

"I'm not saying I'm against what Ted said, Leroy. I'm just...I'm just not gonna quit like him. Like he did."

Bill turned around again. He peered down at the dots and smoke below, the warm, acrid smell of car exhaust came to him. He thought out loud:

"You know, I can smell them," meaning the dots. "I can actually smell them up here. If I can smell them, maybe what they're doing...matters. Maybe all that exhaust down there is supposed to tell us something. Maybe that smell is them signaling. You know, like old Indian smoke signals or something. Maybe they're signaling, 'We do matter!'" Bill paused. "Yeah."

"So...you good?

"Yeah. I'm good."