Jane Flett, The Cats’ Gravity
Suddenly you realize that if you could dare to hold eye contact, you could begin anything. There are entire subways packed with people with whom that is all it would take; catch their eye and hold it tight in your fists, keep it. Once you have it they will follow you anywhere, perhaps, leap headfirst into clouds that smell of burnt hair and insanity, that curdle like plastic in flames. Can you feel the incredible surge of opportunities, multiplying ferocious and exponential like amoebas? Little wonder you cannot move: you cast your eye downward to books and metro guides, and blush. You realize in an hour you could be anywhere, in the midst of anything. This is so tempting to set in motion, like spitting off bridges or spilling of secrets, you want to shove things into the path of gravity and watch them fall, inexorably; splat.