When the pressure dropped, gravity lost its love on me.

Lora always spent hours on admiring those embellishments of the facade.

“You can’t carry him all the way,” Sasha growled from the driver’s seat.

The free air outside the mundane window is blaring out its opus, exchanging chaotic rhythms of water and lightning.

“Seagull Actual, Seagull Actual, this is Seagull 1-2, over.” I called out, climbing the elevation.