throw it

Expansive and breathing out.
Gary Gegenhalten stretched his wings and looked down from the top of Stone Mountain. A cold night to see into the darkness, a fraction of the city lights and tiny traffic going by. Thought and physicality made self aware, he leaned into himself and put hands to knees. Breathing deeply he stood back up and wiped cold sweat from his face with a shakey hand. The wind up here bit through.
Gary, a painter and poet - a child of the 80's, smiled and let himself laugh as he could.
Inter thoughts. The ultimate in connectivity. The most efficient use of space for a body,once in all of its emptiness. A shell. Laid flat in a row forever. All of this, as a general underlying principle, drove him up this mountain tonight. Communication with the specifics of specific names and faces. But closer.Gary. His actual action of doing it. Exposing it. Representative of the thing itself, in so much being nothing but the idea of that spirit. Perfectly without value.
Gary's Contribution to the thing called a City. Buzzing by. Cultural occassions for the individual,opportunities to live and raise a family, build a business. Buy land. The measure of success.
Space requires success. Efforts equal merit in subjectivity's heavy peruse.It weighs in so many other factors.
He hears Scarlett O'Hara declaring the importance of land. He Irish father's words. Land. Land. Land.
Anything outside of the internal interpretation of experience is given to others with value. In terms of its worth as making strict sense, as useful as knowledge, or as a recognizable apptitude for a skilled physical labor.
A smal random crater-