I came to the abandoned stock exchange to scour the ground for valuables left behind by dead brokers who killed themselves here. Watches, golden lighters, jewelry — all wanted to no one. I didn't care about where they came from. I was okay with wearing an old watch that I pulled off a skeleton hand.

Brittany had been missing for a while now. She lost custody of her kids, but everyone knew that was because Lake Mead turned them into calcified sculptures that got progressively tinier and tinier. Her though? Not so much. She was crying while fiddling with Lego-sized figurines of what was her children. “I don't care what anyone else says, I'm gonna make it right for you, because I FUCKING have a PURPOSE!”
The detached palm of my once school friend gripped mine. Couldn't get it off with force, so I stuck it you know where — I think he was disgusted, but his palm ran away quickly.
Another friend — uni friend now — was interested in making as much gesheft as he could during the semester. He had it on his reel-to-reel recorder. He didn't want to share his insights, but $500 made him talk. He was disgusted, though, as bills had my saliva on them. In exchange, I got the ability to pump whatever music I liked in the lecture room, as it was now mine. I didn't have to study — I already had a job. My uni was my coworking.
The last floor featured the room of nineteen Neins — a foot buttons that, when pressed in the correct order — will reveal the rape bathroom. It was huge and outdoorsy.