The falling fee

It looked like nothing: a door, blue paint, peeling, on a stagnant street designed to be walked through rather than to. Besides staff and cleaners, the only people to push it open were those who wanted to fall.

The invention had been accidental – a Ugandan scientist seeking the fingerprint of God in the human brain. Things hadn’t worked – hung together, bridged, fired – as he’d imagined, but he did find the bit where if you pressed – just so, gently, gently – you were caught in constant descent, the instant before the hypnic jerk stretched out for as long as you could afford.

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