Box in hand, I stood at my door and took one last look at the room, saluted it, then turned off the light and headed out. No one I passed in the halls asked about the box.
As soon as I made it to the street, I walked in the direction of South Street and the East River. Along the way, a street performer was doing a magic trick for an audience of about two dozen tourists. I walked behind the tourists in order not to ruin the entertainment. As I crossed South Street and reached the edge of the pier, I couldn't help noticing how tall I'd grown since aging from a child into an adult. I leaned over the railing. A slack rope strung between two posts was busy dipping itself into and out of the indifferent water. The rope and the posts were also indifferent. I lifted the box over the railing and let it drop.
That night I cooked some spaghetti and watched a few hours of PBS, all the while monitoring a bump on the back of my neck that I feared might be cancer.