1.9.9
Evelyn lifted her foot across the threshold, but she didn’t feel quite at home.
1.9.8
One sole and then the next, she carried herself up the one step to the front porch of her and Addy’s home, but wasn’t quite home.
Veranda | snaer.
Out on the veranda of the terminal all space flips and spins over, across and through itself. A latticework of grids slips and slides past at shuddering velocities. Concentric sectors turn like electric webbing, in fits and starts they wind up and relieve its momentum. Light sublimates through the quantum weave. The centering star appears
1.9.7
And another pad of concrete stretched out to hold her, momentary gravitational coupling, with the aggregate showing through after almost three decades of serving as a four foot square section of the Earth’s thin crust.
1.9.6
Next foot fell, the warm concrete walk between the tar and its first expansion joint, feeling slightly closer to home but not quite.
1.9.5
She put her foot down on the hot asphalt where the driveway stopped and the home started, tar like hot chewing gum without the stick under years of dirty build-up.