The Pinnacle

The Pinnacle, all 301 metres of each tower, was what constituted refined living in this city. Whatever the case, the job was done, the director was happy, the cinematographer had stopped twitching, the goondahs were rising like twin Lazaruses, and the girl was already walking away from him, fixing her sari and pulling off an earring that looked like a lead weight. He’d planned this, thought it through in the eight minutes between button press and police arrival, though to call it a plan was rather misleading, rather it was a desperate course of action pursued in the face of no better alternatives. The hardest part was coming up with the name for his new business, but in the end, there was only ever one name that would do.