She fell from the sky. No. Perhaps she lingered. Like a stale fart. Like the heavy groan of bagpipes wafting from the Dover shores to Dunkirk. Freedom’s passage. Currents and crosswinds. The climate. F—k. What I’m trying to say is, she didn’t fall all at once. The normal way. She wouldn’t have survived. (And looked so damn ravishing!) It was a slow hovering, the way I’m always hovering over children at these charity events I keep getting dragged to. I think that’s why I’m always coming here, to the woods. Because of the trees. In here, they’re the towering freaks.