He slips through silent twilit streets, the can of kerosene sloshing softly in time with his footsteps. Through a door he mounts the stairs, a climb he knows so well. He strolls through the empty offices like he owns the joint; the only sound a trickle as he moves slowly from window to window, floor to floor, leaving nothing but flickering light and footprints in the dust. He finishes the building and moves to the next, and then the next, and then the next. Bedtime is whenever he finishes. He gets it done pretty quickly tonight. He walks back up the main street, so eerily quiet. The empty cars slowly rusting into oblivion, the trees and grass breaking their way back through asphalt, the steady decay of a city being reclaimed.
It’s the sort of thing that ought to drive a man mad; being the only citzen of a city built for millions. Perhaps the only resident in a world fit for billions. There’s only so long you can go without seeing a friendly face before the cracks start to form. But he settles happily into his sleeping-bag in the middle of the street like he’s just on a camping trip, without a care in the world.
The lanterns he’s lit burn long into the night as he slumbers beneath ten-story smiles.