For some moments he stared over his shoulder at the lighted rectangles, waiting. By a kind of trick--by concentrating his entire mind on first his left foot, then his left hand, then the other foot, then the other hand--he was able to move, almost imperceptibly, trembling steadily, very nearly without thought.
The psychological impact the daring deed had on the protagonist was presented in a very realistic albeit calculated manner, and the human tendency towards futile regret and the sudden appreciation of the small things in life at times of danger were painted in very vivid colours.
Very slowly, sliding his forehead down the trough of the brick corner and bending his knees, he lowered his body toward the paper lying between his outstretched feet. Running to the window, Tom sees the sheet lying a yard away on the ledge: They were the beginning of the long, long climb to where he was determined to be, at the very top.
Contents of the dead man's pockets, he thought, one sheet of paper bearing penciled notations—incomprehensible. The impossible remoteness of this utter safety, the contrast between it and where he now stood, was more than he could bear.
No more than twenty-odd yards from his back were scores of people, and if just one of them would walk idly to his window and glance out. It was impossible to walk back. His forehead was pressed directly into the corner against the cold bricks, and now he carefully lowered first one hand, then the other, perhaps a foot farther down, to the next indentation in the rows of bricks.
It was an old letter, an advertisement of some sort; his name and address, in purple ink, were on a label pasted to the envelope. On four long Saturday afternoons he had stood in supermarkets counting the people who passed certain displays, and the results were scribbled on that yellow sheet.
Then a sudden rush of giddiness swept over him and he had to open his eyes wide, staring sideways at the cold rough brick and angled lines of mortar, his cheek tight against the building. But leaning slightly inward toward the face of the building and pressed against it, he could feel his balance firm and secure, and moving along the ledge was quite as easy as he had thought it would be.
And every fifth row of brick in the face of the building, he remembered--leaning out, he verified this--was indented half an inch, enough for the tips of his fingers, enough to maintain balance easily.
If it broke, his fist smashing through, he was safe; he might cut himself badly, and probably would, but with his arm inside the room, he would be secure. He was certain of that.
Then as the moving air stilled completely, the curtains swinging back from the wall to hang free again, he saw the yellow sheet drop to the window ledge and slide over out of sight.
The work could be duplicated.
This was his own project, unannounced as yet in his office, and it could be postponed. He simply did not permit himself to look down, though the compulsion to do so never left him; nor did he allow himself actually to think.
He was a tall, lean, dark-haired young man in a pullover sweater, who looked as though he had played not football, probably, but basketball in college.
Attempting to gain the attention of anyone on the street below or in another apartment building, Benecke begins slowly emptying his pockets. It occurred to him that if this ledge and wall were only a yard above ground--as he knelt at the window staring out, this thought was the final confirmation of his intention--he could move along the ledge indefinitely.
Then he knew that he would not faint, but he could not stop shaking nor open his eyes. And he had carried it with him to the Public Library on Fifth Avenue, where he'd spent a dozen lunch hours and early evenings adding more.
And every fifth row of brick in the face of the building, he remembered--leaning out, he verified this--was indented half an inch, enough for the tips of his fingers, enough to maintain balance easily. He turned to pull the door closed and the warm air from the hall rushed through the narrow opening again.
I have been at that place--on the edge of existence, millimeters or breaths away from crashing What does my life look like from a precarious perch 11 stories up in the air?shoved into his back pockets again, he called, “Clare?” When his wife answered, he said, “Sure you don’t mind going alone?” B 10 20 Contents of the Dead Man’s Pocket by Jack Finney 1.
flimsy n.: thin paper used for typing carbon copies. Before computers and copying machines, copies of business communications were made with carbon paper. 2. Contents of the Dead Man's Pocket Questions including "What was Edgar Allan Poe's most famous short story" and "What goes through Tom's mind as he reacts to the sheet of paper lying outside the.
The short story "Contents of The Dead Mans Pocket" is a story about a young man named Tom Beneke. Tom spends all his time working on important information about a grocery store.
One night his wife goes out, and his paper flies out the window. Contents of the Dead Man’s Pocket Lesson Plans, Summary, Analysis April 21, By Trenton Lorcher It’s not too late to help Tom Benecke, and it’s not too late to help teachers looking for lesson plans, a summary, an analysis and more for “Contents of the Dead Man’s Pockets” by Jack Finney.
Contents of the Dead Man's Pocket Questions and Answers - Discover the dominicgaudious.net community of teachers, mentors and students just like you that can answer any question you might have on Contents.
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