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Pull
a
lever
.
Push
a
button
.
You
do
n't
understand
any
of
it
,
and
then
you
just
die
.
One
hundred
and
ninety-one
floors
up
,
you
look
over
the
edge
of
the
roof
and
the
street
below
is
mottled
with
a
shag
carpet
of
people
,
standing
,
looking
up
.
The
breaking
glass
is
a
window
right
below
us
.
A
window
blows
out
the
side
of
the
building
,
and
then
comes
a
file
cabinet
big
as
a
black
refrigerator
,
right
below
us
a
six-drawer
filing
cabinet
drops
right
out
of
the
cliff
face
of
the
building
,
and
drops
turning
slowly
,
and
drops
getting
smaller
,
and
drops
disappearing
into
the
packed
crowd
.
Somewhere
in
the
one
hundred
and
ninety-one
floors
under
us
,
the
space
monkeys
in
the
Mischief
Committee
of
Project
Mayhem
are
running
wild
,
destroying
every
scrap
of
history
.
That
old
saying
,
how
you
always
kill
the
one
you
love
,
well
,
look
,
it
works
both
ways
.
With
a
gun
stuck
in
your
mouth
and
the
barrel
of
the
gun
between
your
teeth
,
you
can
only
talk
in
vowels
.
We
're
down
to
our
last
ten
minutes
.
Another
window
blows
out
of
the
building
,
and
glass
sprays
out
,
sparkling
flock-of-pigeons
style
,
and
then
a
dark
wooden
desk
pushed
by
the
Mischief
Committee
emerges
inch
by
inch
from
the
side
of
the
building
until
the
desk
tilts
and
slides
and
turns
end-over-end
into
a
magic
flying
thing
lost
in
the
crowd
.
The
Parker-Morris
Building
wo
n't
be
here
in
nine
minutes
.
You
take
enough
blasting
gelatin
and
wrap
the
foundation
columns
of
anything
,
you
can
topple
any
building
in
the
world
.
You
have
to
tamp
it
good
and
tight
with
sandbags
so
the
blast
goes
against
the
column
and
not
out
into
the
parking
garage
around
the
column
.
