Wouldnt It Be Good - Nik Kershaw -

One evening, through a fluke of a broken service elevator and a misplaced key, Julian found himself standing in the hallway of the penthouse floor. The door to Alistair’s unit was ajar. Driven by a desperate, feverish curiosity, Julian slipped inside.

"You look like you sleep," Alistair said, his voice a gravelly wreck. "I haven't slept in three weeks. They’re taking the company. They’re taking the house. And she’s already gone." Wouldnt It Be Good - Nik Kershaw

"Wouldn’t it be good to be in your shoes?" he whispered one rainy Tuesday, his forehead pressed against the cold glass. One evening, through a fluke of a broken

The Luminaries were the elite, the beautiful, the people for whom the city seemed to glow. From his window, Julian could see into the penthouse across the street. There, life was a blur of silk robes, crystal decanters, and laughter that surely sounded like a perfect chord. "You look like you sleep," Alistair said, his

He looked back up at the penthouse. It still glowed. It still looked perfect. But as he turned toward his own dim attic, he adjusted his scarf and started to walk. The shoes were still worn, and the pockets were still empty, but for the first time, he didn't mind the weight of his own feet.

The neon-drenched streets of 1984 London didn’t feel like the future to Julian; they felt like a cage built of static and synthesizer hum.