XXXIII
Sampson gives the black box another nudge; wonders if he’ll ever find another opportunity to use it again. He looks back at the nature of his life; his youth spent in playful embraces of women that came and went, each one more beautiful than the last. He looks out the window of his apartment building to the faces below. He sees no change, no exciting new adventure, nothing but the ordinary; faceless swarms of individuals marching to their deaths. He picks up the black box and chunks it in the trash then stumbles back down the street to continue on with his path.
