[WP]A man approaches you and says "You have been given a great gift, a 'super power' if you will. I cannot tell you what it is, but when the time comes, you will know your gift, and how to use it." Today, that day has come

Walking down 64th to the subway, it was crowded, it was loud. The crowd shuffled in, careful to make the process as arduous as possible.

The inside of the car smelled like puke and the general stale odor the city had about it; This place was nothing like the city people expected, romanticized by old movies, reality was unable to live up to the standards of such a dream. The normal degree of weirdos made sure to show, people often made public transit an extension of their own homes, displaying the products of their poor hygiene and inability to assert basic control of their own bodies to the general public. Your morning starts off just like all the rest, you're headed to a job you dread on a subway that makes you question the sanity of the people around you.

Walking down 53rd you pass the same homeless man that's been there for a week, he gives you a look letting you know he's noticed you as a pattern, and the lack of a donation to his misfortune.

Crossing the bridge is always a harrowing task, the traffic below is loud and fast, impatient drivers move through a crowded highway, late to work where they make charts and wear suits for a living.

You notice a brown trench coat out of the corner of your eye as you're walking, it grabs at your attention.

It's a man outside the outer fence of the bridge, standing on the edge. His back to you, you hollow from the inside. The city is faced with these passengers of despondency daily, you read about them in the news, but out here in the brisk air, it feels personal, there he is.

You tread over to him, scared to speak, witnessing him stare into the traffic as if it's the soul of the devil. You can almost imagine his sunk in eyes, the last bit of life in them as desperate as you are, wildly combing memory for any basis of argument to abort this last resort action. The rest of him indifferent to the increasingly downcast squabble of his fundamental will to stay alive. He is unmoving, taking his final bit of solace and comforting from the fact of knowing it is all going to end soon. He thinks about those who loved him, how it went wrong, why this is the single option. All of this is forming the basis of debate for his legs to give.

Your voice fails you, what comes out is a squeak at best. You can tell he heard, You can tell he ignored what he heard. You sit for several moments, guilty you're not taking drastic action but scared to not reflect before doing so. After what seemed like the longest train of thought of your life, you decide upon a simple "Why". He's unmoved for several moments, he leans his head to the left and mutters "Life isn't how we see it, you know." he waits a few moments, his voice is deep, "we have these ideas of how the people around us are, what they see us for, but it's all a fucking lie." a shock flies up your spine, "they get what they want, or you break their expectations, and they abandon you to the cold." he sounds monotone and dry "I don't have a single reason to bullshit you, I'm done; but the people around you do, and when every single one of them is playing a game of finders keepers, and you spill your heart, they won't look back." his face stays fixed toward the traffic, angled slightly toward you.

One minute. One minute thirty. Three minutes. Eleven minutes. It's just you and him, no one takes notice, no one calls for help.

"You're _ _ _ _ _." you wait a couple of seconds.

Looked like he didn't even move, just relaxed his muscles. You didn't hear it, you didn't hear anything the rest of the day.

If the ending doesn't make sense for you, fill in the blanks with right/wrong

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