“I said I bet that you look good on the dance floor…”
Jayz clipped his harness on and started craning the basket out over the lip of the tower.
“I don't know if you're looking for romance or …”
He began the slow descent from the service deck to the top glazing, keeping an interested eye on a passing police helicopter.
“Don't know what you're looking for …”
A surprised look came at him from the other side of the glass as an IT guy was distracted from adjusting a projector.
“Well I bet that you look good on the dance floor …”
Jayz clipped his squeegee to his glove and started to clean off the guano that was a particular feature of the topmost floors of the building.
“Dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984 …”
The screen in the executive meeting room went blank and the room fell dark.
The basket lurched as the emergency brake fail-safe clicked in. Jayz stopped his iPod, and reached for his radio.
“Chris; Jayz. What’s goin’ on, man? Are you pissing me about?”
“Jayz, we’ve got some sort of power-out. Hang on.”
“good choice of words”, thought Jayz, and he watched the IT guy inside the room. The guy reached for the desk socket, trying to get power back to his projector.
Far below the basket, the sound of car horns swelled. Then came the police sirens. The power drought had started, and Jayz’s abseiling ropes now seemed pitifully short.