Nicholas stood at the edge of the platform, somewhat contemplating how he had ended up here. Not philosophically ‘ended up here’ in a droll Sylvia-Plath kind of way, but actually how he had ended up HERE . The cold-steel girder he was standing beside troubled his mind for only a moment as the voice of his subconscious mind shouted out the falsehood of the girder’s solidity; and almost as if a response, a secondary voice questioned the solidity (if not sanity) of his mind. He had no time right now to argue with steel girders; he had other things that needed done this… Evening? Yes, so it appeared to be.