Broken glass in window (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
‘1023,’ he says, his finger pointing at the bottom left window of the building. ‘1024,’ his finger moves one window to the right, ‘1025, number 1025 is broken.’ There are only a few shards left of the window around the edges. ‘1026 …’
The parked cars are mirrored in the empty windows.
‘1027 … 1028. Seven buildings, 1028 windows.’ He takes the few steps to the front of the next building.
‘Building number eight,’ he reaches his hand up, finger outstretched accusingly at the top left window on this side of the building. There is a gust of wind and a scraping sound behind him. He freezes for several seconds. Blinks. Turns around slowly. The wind is dragging a yellow plastic bag across the road. His mouth twitches.
He turns his eyes and his finger back to the window.
‘Building number eight. One thousand and …’ he licks his lip, ‘One thousand and … and … you!’ he points into the air, ‘you broke my concentration, why did you do that?’
The plastic bag travels along the road with more scraping. He runs after it, stomps it down and tears it to pieces.
‘Sorry,’ he whispers with one small yellow piece in his hand. He walks back to building number one.
‘Building number one. One,’ he begins, finger outstretched.
A Bolg? 
debzywebzy
/ July 18, 2013omg. well that happened.