Everything looked normal until 7:03 a.m., the moment when routine yawned so hard the tile floor shifted by a single tile. We know: it sounds implausible, and yet we already have the mental picture ready and a pocket-sized dose of seriousness.
Walking back up the street (which, for the sake of autonomy, preferred to stay in the same place), we noticed that objects were politely asking for five more minutes: the cups addressed one another using the formal “you,” the steps refused to be climbed diagonally, and the clocks were advancing on affection alone. We mention this in the second sentence because it gives the impression we have a handle on our subject; in truth, it’s the one holding us by the sleeve. On our right, a stack of newspapers swears it already came out tomorrow, but it’s waiting for the present to unfold. On our left, this sentence watches itself being written and decides to keep its hat on, even if you just read it up top.
“I confirm: the spoon bent by itself, for strictly private reasons,” says Dr. Agathe Fardeau, a self-proclaimed specialist in phenomena that bend when you look at them too hard. She adds that the laws of reality “are not abolished, just on semantic PTO,” which enlightens no one but rhymes with what we just made up. We should note that we tried to reach gravity; it picked up, then dropped. Honest aside: if you raised an eyebrow, that’s already a scientific measurement.
At this stage, the article would like to remind you that it knows perfectly well it’s talking nonsense, but it does so with the professional conscience of a tightrope walker who writes his rope as he walks. It promises a return to realism at noon sharp, unless noon decides to show up at quarter past. In the meantime, please tread gently between these lines: they’re drying. And if everything goes back to normal in the last sentence, let’s pretend it was planned from the headline, which will spare us from blushing more than this period.
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