The Aeronaut


By J. Bradley

The doctor says I need to stop eating what I’m eating so my stomach doesn’t make so much gas and all I have the heart to do is nod and mmmhmm him until he finally leads me back to the reception area with yet another prescription. I’m already thinking about the greasiest thing I can eat that will fill me up, bring me one step closer to give gravity permission to ignore my body. My wife’s up there somewhere, and I know she’s been getting the notes I’ve sent her one balloon after the other because they haven’t come back.


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