Fred was never loved- never loved the way a place should be loved. You could tell by looking at him; by the scratches on his bricks and the cracks in his foundation. Fred was built to be feared. I worked downtown, in a perfectly kept red brick building filled with perfectly painted walls and perfectly decorated tiny rooms. After awhile, I was lucky enough to be moved to one of the rooms with a window. It was easier, sitting at a computer inputting numbers, when I could look out at the world. I watched the tiny people walk along the streets from the fourth floor, all the while tap, tap, tapping at my keyboard. From my window, I could see Fred. The thing was though, for a long time I never saw Fred. He was always there, I'm sure, but amidst the parking garages, banks, and office buildings he was eclipsed. He must have been. It's possible that my attention was just too focused on the funeral home right outside my window- on the top story window that always
