If gravity were gone, she said, the world would be a better place. He stops, thinks about unbound bodies floating upward, colliding with rising cars, street lights and wires, stuff. They’re looking out an 18th floor window. He wants to say, what are you thinking, but he can’t. Between them there are stories, there are years. She rests her forehead on the window, inhales.
- ▼ November (15)