I’ve got this feeling like I’ve been here before.

There’s this guy eating a sandwich on the top floor of a parking garage. He has a rifle. The sandwich has ham, lots of mayo, no lettuce. He finishes the sandwich and swallows the remains of a milk. He picks up the rifle, still chewing. Below him there is a busy corner. Below him there are a hundred people with featureless faces. A little red light dances from person to person, unnoticed. He breathes shallow. His palms are sweating. There’s sweat running into his eyes from his forehead. Lightning flashes, the air stops, somebody drops. Somebody starts screaming. Somebody drops. Thunderclaps fly around like giant fists hitting the buildings, hitting the cars. Somebody drops. Sirens pop up in the distance.

There’s just an empty brown paper bag, an empty ziplock bag, some crumbs, an empty milk. The last supper. People are starting to run into shops and office buildings. Somebody drops. Empty clip. Reload. The sirens are close. Someone is pointing up. Somebody drops. The mayonnaise was good. It was Miracle Whip. Miracle Whip is much better than traditional mayo. Somebody drops. The little red light dances. People are looking out of windows across the street, pointing. A window breaks. Somebody drops. The police cars screech to a stop down on the street. People are pointing up. They get out of their cars. Somebody drops.

There’s a picture he keeps in his wallet. He takes it out. Someone he loves—the wife and kids—salvation. All those years of salvation. The red light dances. All those years of moving towards something always so far away. Somebody drops. There’s a picture in his wallet with one less person. It doesn’t taste like Miracle Whip. Wait for it. Breathe. Somebody drops.

Tomorrow everything will be the same as it was yesterday. Today is just another two minutes on the news. The picture, salvation, they won’t bring that up. There’s a million different ways to say I love you. It’s choosing the right one that’s the problem. There’s a million different ways to lose sight of the fact that eventually everything is comparable to a bad dream. Club Med is one. What are the others?