Experiment 3: Some Brief, Extreme Weather

Before meeting a great typhoon, feathers, fluffy, are fed a red thread by your average Joe, whose spleen implodes later in life, to form a pinwheel—a pinwheel as flimsy as apple crumble: one poke and everything apple crumbles: no room for error, it must spin in a typhoon; obviously, it will not and cannot; its fate is to explode into individual fluffy slithers that flutter away from the thread that will drop first and land first, but if the harsh wind carries them away neither will land: inevitably, they will crash into something and halt—their journey will end abruptly.