He stood holding onto the edge, his feet dangling twenty three stories over the on lookers gazing at his misfortune. For a time he thought about the bizarre series of missteps that led him to this embarrassing predicament.

As his arm began to burn with pain he realized that he was still holding onto the stuff car that lured him out of his apartment window almost ten minutes ago. He had been holding for the first five minutes because he was afraid of it hitting someone. He thought that anyone who had not moved deserved a hit on the head. For the remaining five minutes he didn’t want any of these onlookers to have the stuff animal. He knew that who ever caught it would keep it, so he kicked off his shoe first.

“I need to survive this.” He thought. At the very least to get even with his friend that concocted the prank, but that just wasn’t enough.
“Battlestar Galactica,” he thought, “I need to know how it ends.” Questions raced through his mind about his favorite show. Who is the 12th, the thought, who?