Those Who Remember by Joel Lane
Climbing the bare hill to the three towers, I passed a few children who were stoning an old van. They’d taken out most of the windscreen. I waited at the entrance to the second tower until a young woman dressed in black came out; I slipped in past her. It seemed colder inside the building than outside; the stone steps reeked of piss and cleaning fluids. Dean’s flat was on the ninth floor. While climbing, I rehearsed what I was going to make him do.