There is a needle - a mile high needle.
Sharp and silver tipped - it rests upon a fine point and rises to a head upon which one may stand but not sit.
Symmetry balances precarity - it hangs upon the stillness of the slightest breeze. It stands in frozen time - awaiting history's touch.
Stand now atop your needle. And draw in a cold breath from your feet to your lungs.
Look down. And stay still.