Don't Make A Mess

He stands on a bridge, overlooking the Rhine. He has been on this bridge before, he thinks, maybe even recently. All of the places look the same at night, the places he haunts on his nightly walks. He does not stray far from the river. He does not stray far from the little room he’s shut himself into at his sister’s house. She took one look at him, turned away, her nose in the air. “Just do not make a mess.” That was all she’d bothered to say to him that first night as if Miles was notorious for making messes. He was not.