A slight breeze disheveled the hair of the man smoking a cigarette on the roof, watching the cars move on the street below. Accompanied by the city lights they disrupted the natural darkness of night. He flicked the ash off the end of the cigarette and watched it fall slowly down, breaking apart as the breeze took it away. Tilting his head back he admired the stars above him, what little there where with the city lights. He'd never seen a shooting star, he thought to himself, tonight wasn't one for firsts. Pulling again from the cigarette he remembered as a child he would sit on the roof outside his window at night and admire simple things, like a light post or tree. He found it hard to admire such things now. The light posts down on the street where so small and didn't have the same beauty. Maybe because they where harder to see so high up. After another drag, he exhaled the smoke and watched it rise up and spread until no longer visible. Where did all the smoke go? Placing the lit cigarette next to him, he observed the embers struggle for life in the cold and slowly extinguish themselves to produce no more light. He pulled his coat together as he took one last look at the city. He then closed his eyes and listened to all the sounds. A tear fell down his cheek and rested on his chin until he wiped it with his sleeve. It felt good, that one tear. He raised himself to his feet and took in a deep breath of cold air. He then spread his arms open and turned around. He paused momentarily, then shifted his weight sending himself over the edge of the building. He watched the floors speed past him and slowly closed his eyes. For a moment, the city almost seemed peaceful. The last thing he did before his death was mouth the word, "Goodbye."