Thousand: Four Hundred Sixty-Seven

his tongue, holding him to the earth. Wasn’t that just yesterday? How often is he going to be in danger of drifting into the stratosphere? Rather annoyed with himself Bernie now imagines he could have pushed away the rafters and coasted out into the air, bobbed off into the clouds. How far would his internal helium have carried him? He takes a deep breath, which, by the way, feels great, like he’s going to breathe out halos. I don’t suppose I was ever really off the ground, Bernie thinks. He leans forward, opening his mouth for the next piece of