He didn’t know when he began to doubt gravity.
Maybe it was the time his cat leapt on to the bed and hovered in the air a fraction too long. Maybe it was because his glass seemed to fill too slowly, the drink from his can taking on a rebellious quality. Maybe it was the way that raindrops seemed to be falling in a way that was verging on horizontal.
Whatever it was, he began to carry stones in his pockets and sew weights into his trouser hems.
He wouldn’t be the first to go. Of that he was certain.
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