• home with his sister
• attained an altitude of four thousand feet
• “No, that isn’t elegant.”
• found myself in a cul-de-sac
• threw herself into my arms

Wandering the suburban blightscape of Simon’s neighborhood, I found myself in a cul-de-sac rimmed with identical split-level houses. I hoped Simon was home with his sister. She shouldn’t be left alone in such desolation.

Spotting the four-digit number that spelt “Simon” in the arcane addressing scheme of the development, and which was the sole means of distinguishing one house from any other, I rang the bell. Seconds later the door opened and Simone threw herself into my arms.

“Isn’t Simon here?” I asked with the breath she crushed from my lungs.

“He went up in the balloon this morning and he hasn’t come back!” Simone gasped.

This didn’t bode well. On the balloon’s previous flight, it had attained an altitude of four thousand feet and then couldn’t be coaxed to descend by the usual means. The Civil Air Patrol was called in and had to determine the best way to return Simon and his wayward contraption to terra firma.

“You could shoot down the balloon with arrows,” Simon’s brother had suggested. Minos coveted Simon’s collection of baseball cards and could be relied upon to offer malevolent advice on any topic.

The ranking officer of the Patrol was cool-headed. “No, that isn’t elegant.” The grizzled veteran glanced about the room before concluding, “We’ll use the grappling hooks!”

Now I stroked Simone’s jet hair and told her it would all be fine, but I suppressed a shudder as I recalled the cruel barbs of those hooks, and of the crewmen who launched them.

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