
The October StoryHe shrugged the brightly patterned shirt on over his watermelon-sized head. Cycle helmets, caps and beanies had always sat ridiculously upon this sphere, now, with both arms stuck up in the air and the shirt’s top button wedged up his left nostril, a ludicrous panic set in.
It wasn’t the sort of panic that beaded sweat, or made him shake. It was an old fear, one that filled his mouth with saliva and brought the memory of a stale smell like a smog swarming around his senses. He pulled the shirt firmly down and tried to breathe…