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He is bored.
It is Sunday afternoon, and he has spent the majority of it doing nothing whatsoever, which is how he prefers to spend his afternoons. Three hours ago, he had discovered a comic strip about a German Shepherd that engaged in superheroics under the cover of moonlight. He clicks now to comic six hundred and seventy four and entertains a vague desire to adopt a German Shepherd.
Something knocks at his window.
He does not recognize the sound at first. He lives on the fourteenth floor of a high-rise. He has never heard it before, has never expected to hear it, and has never bothered to consider what it might sound like, hypothetically. In the realm of non-hypotheticals, he decides it sounds rather like the glass might shatter.
A part of him hopes it is a German Shepherd with a cape.
The rest of him hopes it is not a dead bird or a dead anything. He does not know the correct procedure to clean blood from the outside of a fourteenth story window, but none of the options that leap to mind seem very appealing.
He is disappointed to see that it is neither a dead anything nor a German Shepherd with a cape.
It is a frisbee. White, cheap plastic, scuffed about the edges, and perched precariously on the point of the half-height iron window grate. Some university insignia is emblazoned upon it - perhaps the University of Sketchy Calligraphy, as the last letter is stylized to the point that it could be any number of things. The University of Superhuman Catapulting comes to mind as well, as he cannot imagine how else the object might have reached his window. He stares in incredulity. He considers the possibility that he is about to be the subject of a reality television prank.
As he has made strict plans for several more hours of being bored, he hopes he is not.
He opens the window with some effort, sending a cloud of dust and specks of what he hopes is paint into the air. He is skeptical of the frisbee's reality. It does not seem as if this can be a real object, and so he examines it under the premise that it might be just about anything in disguise. He is not sure what exactly it might be in disguise, but he is certain there is a non-zero chance that this is true.
Perhaps it is a very small UFO.
Squinting at it fails to reveal its true identity. Closer observation does not prove helpful, either, and he decides that his life has become annoyingly more complicated than it was five minutes ago.
This is a statement that is usually true.
He sets the disc down and returns to his computer.
On page six hundred and seventy five, he pushes his chair back impatiently and reaches for the disc again. A frisbee has smashed into his fourteenth floor window, and he cannot concentrate. There are any number of possibilities. Perhaps a fan of competitive frisbee is clinging to the fifteenth floor at this very moment waiting to burgle his above-floor neighbor and has made a crucial mistake in dropping his favorite frisbee onto the floor below. Perhaps a psychologist is conducting an experiment to determine if random stimuli can successfully perturb someone's day. Perhaps the powers that be would like him to exercise more and has taken to dropping unsubtle hints.
He leans out the window and glances up towards the fifteenth floor. He surveys the cityscape to see if anyone might be looking his way with binoculars. He invokes every deity he can think of and promises that he will do fifteen push-ups next Sunday.
These avenues do not prove very fruitful.
He returns to the cityscape. He has lived in this room for two and a half years and has never bothered to take in the view. There has never been anything worth seeing.
There still isn't anything worth seeing.
On a moment's whim, he tosses the frisbee out the window, closes it, and draws his curtains shut. He hopes it does not land on anyone. It is Sunday afternoon, and his life is now less complicated than it was five minutes ago.
A German Shepherd in a cape dives down and carefully snatches it in its jaws before it descends too far.
"Buster!"
It drifts back up carefully to the fifteenth floor.
"You've got to be more careful. You were almost caught!"
Buster whines softly.
Seven days later on the fourteenth floor, he reaches comic page twelve hundred and ninety four, posted earlier that day. It features a particularly attractive cartoon of the German Shepherd with a cape playing frisbee outside a high-rise, framed by the amber rays of the sun. He smiles.
He will follow the comic for about four more days before he becomes impatient with the slow update schedule and moves on to newer things.
Later that night, he does five half-hearted push-ups and stops.
He is bored.
It is Sunday afternoon, and he has spent the majority of it doing nothing whatsoever, which is how he prefers to spend his afternoons. Three hours ago, he had discovered a comic strip about a German Shepherd that engaged in superheroics under the cover of moonlight. He clicks now to comic six hundred and seventy four and entertains a vague desire to adopt a German Shepherd.
Something knocks at his window.
He does not recognize the sound at first. He lives on the fourteenth floor of a high-rise. He has never heard it before, has never expected to hear it, and has never bothered to consider what it might sound like, hypothetically. In the realm of non-hypotheticals, he decides it sounds rather like the glass might shatter.
A part of him hopes it is a German Shepherd with a cape.
The rest of him hopes it is not a dead bird or a dead anything. He does not know the correct procedure to clean blood from the outside of a fourteenth story window, but none of the options that leap to mind seem very appealing.
He is disappointed to see that it is neither a dead anything nor a German Shepherd with a cape.
It is a frisbee. White, cheap plastic, scuffed about the edges, and perched precariously on the point of the half-height iron window grate. Some university insignia is emblazoned upon it - perhaps the University of Sketchy Calligraphy, as the last letter is stylized to the point that it could be any number of things. The University of Superhuman Catapulting comes to mind as well, as he cannot imagine how else the object might have reached his window. He stares in incredulity. He considers the possibility that he is about to be the subject of a reality television prank.
As he has made strict plans for several more hours of being bored, he hopes he is not.
He opens the window with some effort, sending a cloud of dust and specks of what he hopes is paint into the air. He is skeptical of the frisbee's reality. It does not seem as if this can be a real object, and so he examines it under the premise that it might be just about anything in disguise. He is not sure what exactly it might be in disguise, but he is certain there is a non-zero chance that this is true.
Perhaps it is a very small UFO.
Squinting at it fails to reveal its true identity. Closer observation does not prove helpful, either, and he decides that his life has become annoyingly more complicated than it was five minutes ago.
This is a statement that is usually true.
He sets the disc down and returns to his computer.
On page six hundred and seventy five, he pushes his chair back impatiently and reaches for the disc again. A frisbee has smashed into his fourteenth floor window, and he cannot concentrate. There are any number of possibilities. Perhaps a fan of competitive frisbee is clinging to the fifteenth floor at this very moment waiting to burgle his above-floor neighbor and has made a crucial mistake in dropping his favorite frisbee onto the floor below. Perhaps a psychologist is conducting an experiment to determine if random stimuli can successfully perturb someone's day. Perhaps the powers that be would like him to exercise more and has taken to dropping unsubtle hints.
He leans out the window and glances up towards the fifteenth floor. He surveys the cityscape to see if anyone might be looking his way with binoculars. He invokes every deity he can think of and promises that he will do fifteen push-ups next Sunday.
These avenues do not prove very fruitful.
He returns to the cityscape. He has lived in this room for two and a half years and has never bothered to take in the view. There has never been anything worth seeing.
There still isn't anything worth seeing.
On a moment's whim, he tosses the frisbee out the window, closes it, and draws his curtains shut. He hopes it does not land on anyone. It is Sunday afternoon, and his life is now less complicated than it was five minutes ago.
A German Shepherd in a cape dives down and carefully snatches it in its jaws before it descends too far.
"Buster!"
It drifts back up carefully to the fifteenth floor.
"You've got to be more careful. You were almost caught!"
Buster whines softly.
Seven days later on the fourteenth floor, he reaches comic page twelve hundred and ninety four, posted earlier that day. It features a particularly attractive cartoon of the German Shepherd with a cape playing frisbee outside a high-rise, framed by the amber rays of the sun. He smiles.
He will follow the comic for about four more days before he becomes impatient with the slow update schedule and moves on to newer things.
Later that night, he does five half-hearted push-ups and stops.
He is bored.
