New Burnswick falling away beneath him until he was seventy-seven feet in the air. Seventy-seven feet precisely. From what he would later recall, he stood on the bridge for a good long time. Watching the streaking lights of the traffic below. Reviewing his miserable life, wishing he’d been born in a different body. Regretting all the books he would never write. Maybe try to get himself to reconsider. And then the 4:12 express to Washington blew in the distance. Closed his eyes (or maybe he didn’t) and when he opened them there was something straight out of Ursula Le Guin standing by his side. Later, when he would describe it, he would call it Golden Mongoose, but even he knew that wasn’t what it was. It was very placid, very beautiful. Gold- limned eyes that reached through you, not so much in judgement or reproach but for something far scarier. They stared at each other- it serene as a Buddhist, he in total disbelief- and then the whistle blew again and his eyes snapped open (or closed) and it was gone.
Dude had been waiting his whole life for something just like this to happen to him, had always wanted to live in a world of magic and mystery, but instead of taking note of the vision and changing his ways, the fuck just shook his swollen head. The train was nearer now, and so, before he could lose his courage, he threw himself down into the darkness.