Wouldnt | It Be Good - Nik Kershaw

He found Alistair in the living room, slumped on a designer sofa that cost more than Julian’s yearly salary. There were no guests. No laughter. Just a stack of legal documents and a half-empty bottle of gin. Alistair was staring at a photograph of a woman, his eyes rimmed with red, his hands shaking so violently he could barely hold his glass.

Julian looked at the man he had envied for months. He realized that while he was looking up, wishing for the shoes, the man wearing them was looking down, wishing for the escape of being nobody. Wouldnt It Be Good - Nik Kershaw

By day, Julian was a "gray"—one of the thousands of office workers dressed in charcoal suits, filing papers for a ministry that existed only to justify its own existence. But by night, he retreated to a cramped attic flat in Camden, where he’d sit by the window and watch the "Luminaries." He found Alistair in the living room, slumped

Alistair gestured to the sprawling, glittering city below them. "Look at it. It’s all just glass and lights, isn't it? Everyone down there thinks it's a dream up here. But it’s just a higher place to fall from." Just a stack of legal documents and a

Alistair looked up and saw Julian. He didn’t scream. He didn't call the police. He just looked at Julian’s cheap, damp coat and his worn-out shoes.