There were serial ledgers, numbered accounts, and weighted bundles of paper currency, profuse in their abundance, entrusted to iron repositories, buried within the reinforced certainty of penthouse walls. Such undertakings were necessary, for there was a plan to escape. Yet, an equally chartered plan, should the need to return arise.
He stood outside the towering glass structure at 590 Madison Avenue, the collar on his Gucci pea coat affected by the slight wind. He idled in the morning drizzle, a hot cup of Masala chai idling similarly within his grasp. As the transient legion of pedestrians traversed the liquefied pavement, Benjamin remained unmoved in the midst of the promenade, attempting a truce with his thoughts.
There were numbered accounts.
And paper currency.
He was certain of it.
His thoughts wandered.
There were documented ledgers.
Several by his recollection.
Meticulous in their keep.
Though two years of vagrancy, compounded by heartbreak, and a purposeful forsaking of Mnemosyne, impeded his cognition.
And he could not remember them all.
Implode. Part LXI - DK
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