Apparently he fell to his death while climbing a building with the intent of jumping off the roof to his death. We know this because he had drawn up a plan, as a drawing on simple white paper, complete with height, angle, impact designated by broken line and arrowhead. Simple, articulate, but hardly masterful. The plan was folded neatly into a rectangle that slipped neatly into the right rear pocket of his well worn levis. The man, of undetermined age, but officials speculate, strictly off-the-record that he was probably in mid thirties and worn as thin as the jeans he wore.
As articulate the plan, simple-as-it-was, was, the most critical detail became ‘why’ and there was no articulation to meet that end or his.
“Who’ might helped with ‘the why’, but we were told they were working on that by the cops and nothing was forthcoming pending next of kin, if they knew who that might be, which they claimed not.
Someone noted the man wore headed phones, the tiny earbud kind. Don’t ask me how they could possible made that out of the mess that was his head, but apparently the wires ended in the t shirt pocket. The unit therein too was shattered so no telling what tunes he had to accompany him. Sick barroom humor would make a game speculating on what song he last heard, I Fall To Pieces…by Patsy Cline is, so far at least, comfortably ahead. They’d sing all night as long as some bloke was buying the rounds and punches in H-33 on the juke.
