As if seeing a man sitting outside of a window on the 437th floor wasn’t strange enough, this man appeared to be sitting on the air itself. He had an orange-white glow emanating from his body, and a ring of red energy particles swirling around him. He appeared to be an Indian man and had a clean-shaven head that was decorated with five or six lines of red henna paint on his dark brown skin. The stripes were drawn from the back of his head to the front, running toward a single red dot in the center of his forehead. Jack moved over to the window and opened it. The man’s eyes were closed and he was humming gently with his arms outstretched. “Hello?” Jack said. “Can I help you?” The man didn’t hear Jack at first. He sat there with his legs folded, humming away. He was barefoot, dressed in loose-fitting bright orange clothing, with a crimson silk belt tied around his waist and a matching red sash slung over his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Jack staring at him. “Oh, hello,”
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