“Tracy. Come on out. This isn’t funny any more.”Tracy’s muffled voice continued to drifted through the changing room door. “All I can say is...wow. What have you been feeding that thing?”“Pussy.” came the man’s gruff answer.Worried for her friend, Alison banged on the door even harder. “Tracy! Stop! You can’t tease men like that!” She cried out.“Who’s teasing!” Tracy shouted back.Alison was at a loss. She really didn’t know what to do. From within the changing room Tracy let out a shrill squeal. Later he gave yesterday’s crime scene a once over and crept off the streets of Washington Heights and on to the bridge. He mocked himself and imagined his body as some omniscient sphere growing huge in the sky. He liked to exaggerate. Henry fought depression, he once told a fare with an elaborate personal surrealism. ‘Our bodies die easy. Suffering leads to suffering. Nothing new.’ Every day Henry sang his bullshit philosophy. Henry knew the NYC and PA police patrolled the exits and persecuting. More

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