Random and Simka were on the roof again.
Bundled up in layers and a blanket, they shared sips from a bottle of gifted scotch to keep the chill out.
It got darker much earlier at this time of year, and though it was barely later than six, they sat watching the western sky as it turned into night and the lights of the city shone brighter than any stars they might have seen otherwise.
“What do you think is gonna happen?” asked Simka.
“I think he’s gonna get elected again.” said Random.
“You do?”
“Yip.”
“That sucks.”
“So does he,” said Random. “But people get what they deserve, I guess.”
“What do you say that?” asked Simka.
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“So, apathy, then,” said Simka, offering Random the last bit of scotch.
“Apathy,” replied Random, waving off the scotch. “It’s all you.”
They cuddled closer under the blanket as she took the last swig. “I feel bad for his family,” she said.
“Me, too…” he said. “But they don’t really care about us, because he doesn’t either.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. In the distance, police sirens could be heard, and Simka looked in that direction. “I guess that’s them.”
“I guess it is,” said Random.
“Should we go downstairs?”
“Nah. They’ll find us,” he said. “It’s nice out here.”
And so they stayed. And the police soon found them there, and had many questions about the naked, duct-taped politician in their skid-row apartment. But that was all in the past. And they were about to be famous.
