windowless study LXVII

This morning Carmichael came out in nothing but his pyjama bottoms yelling something about pot-holes. He legged it up Mr Tape’s ladder and began climbing the staircase like a man possessed. You should have seen him. Never have I seen anyone tackle a strange/bizarre wooden floating staircase the way Carmichael did this morning. Before too long he was nothing but a speck of crazed dead-skin dust and a moment later he was out of sight, swallowed by the huge endless sky like a man drowned in an upside down ocean.