When he is stranded at the bottom of a well of fake stars, on a cold street beneath a sickly universe of sodium light points, he learns the shimmering towers of glass above are dirty, inside and out. Multicolored false eyes flicker and blink, reflecting each other; he rages inside against their number, their superiority and blindness. They don't see him unless compelled to.
When he is standing behind the transparent slick of a penthouse wall, he presses against the darkness of stark city streets below. Surprised by the chill of the glass, he remembers, and mocks what he sees.