Falling

[Foggy Bridge - Zeb Andrews]

Some days Ford felt like he was falling. Like he had taken that last step off the bridge rail, staggered for footing, and slipped into the fog above the river. He stared at the wall of his room on the third floor of the Augusta Marriott. The light on the display of his phone faded out leaving him in darkness, the words FUNDS TRANSFERRED disappearing into the dark. The sky was gray, dimmed like a storm was coming. He wished to hell one was.

-from Gunshot