Gravity

What goes up that really wants to come down? Pants? Heaven, I think not, said the tailor. The spoiled twelve-year-old with a sunburn was naked. He stamped his foot and was handed a lollypop to calm him down. The tailor’s needle was fine and sharp, and he knotted the final stitches of the straight jacket. Even the child was impressed, as a tailor who crafts such a fine restraint is rare. Even rarer is one who uses himself as the dummy, silent through the many pricks.