The Para

The Paratrooper I was falling through the air couldn’t see a thing, opened up my big black umbrella and descended in an orderly fashion. A scythe of a moon gave enough light so I could see the coastline and the dark, menacing sea just waiting to fill my lung with water. By manipulating the umbrella`s ribs, I landed safely on the beach, folded the collapsible and got away as foam and horrid sea tried to drag me under. To get home I had to walk through a monocultural nightmare of pop music, endless Fado, and orange trees the bore nothing, but yellow fruit no one bothers to pick up as the land is drowning in sticky juice and no gin. Anyway, supermarkets sold virtual orangeade. I was walking uphill now, downhill too, but mostly uphill. From a hilltop, I could see my cottage; noticed the yard light was still on and hear the desultory din of an aeroplane circling looking for a lost passenger