When he felt like being alone and getting high, he would head over to the El tracks and just sit there and stare at the sky and wonder how beauty could still be found even in this shit part of Chicago.

But then he would remember that there was a kid with hair like fire, with a gaze that burned, with a smile that boiled Mickey's blood and that this kid was pretty much on the same level as the expansive sky in terms of things that made Canaryville a little less horrible.

He would remember that and then he would just take another drag on his joint because he didn't want Ian Gallagher's wide eyed grin to be the only thing he could picture when he closed his eyes.

When he was high and the sky was full of clouds and Ian's face was stuck in his mind, Mickey would sit there and blow out a puff of smoke and stare at the birds as they made their way through the clouds and he would wish that he could just get up and fly off with them.

But he can't. His feet will stay firmly planted in Canaryville for reasons other than gravity.

He thinks about how Ian's also in Canaryville and that makes him hate it a little bit less.

When he recalls all those random comments about geometry and physics and whatever the fuck Ian goes on and on about, and how all those random comments collect into one big statement about Ian eventually leaving Canaryville, that's when he really wishes that he could climb to the top of the El tracks and jump off and just soar across the sky and never have to come back.

But even though he's stoned out of his mind, he knows he's being stupid and that'll never happen and Ian will leave and leave him behind and he'll just keep trudging on the ground and never spread his wings and Ian will forget all about him and he'll die in Canaryville and disappear.

He looks up at the birds again and closes his eyes for a brief moment before throwing his joint in the dirt. He pauses for a minute, wiping his hands on his pants, then starts to head back to the nest from which he will never leave.