Anna Kondakova. Numeral (№ 319696)

Thirty-four, thirty-five...
The bridge was buzzing, eagerly swallowing the thick steel wind rods. Fossilized fingers dug into the cool bar behind. Under his feet crunched the sand, salt fell in the raging river.
Thirty-six, thirty-seven...
What is thought to be the last? No. The head is empty, like took out his brain, leaving only: "must, must, Must".