He squatted in an old abandoned granary. It looked like a dozen giant cement toilet paper rolls, about 7 storeys high, stood up side by side. A corrugated-sheet-metal shed perched on top. The shed was as rusted as the metal staircase leading up to it. In winter, he had to patch the holes in the wall to get a small reprieve from the wind, but the stairs held his weight without bucking.
The only color on the grey and rust structure were the sun bleached graffiti at ground level and along the top. Artists and troublemakers used to climb up here for the view, the privacy, and a canvas to leave their mark on the cityscape.
He hadn’t left his mark, but he was the only one still climbing the rusting stairs.