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The Protest

So I was walking on one of those creaky, dangly wooden bridges, like you guys have seen only in magazines or in Indiana Jones.

I was walking according to the rules of walking, step by step, right foot, left foot, right foot–but still the damned bridge broke! And I felt the anger of the abyss hitting me like a fist in the stomach, a fist so powerful and unavoidable that my whole body felt less consequential than the tweet of a robin.

And the abyss was mad with rage! It wouldn’t have listened to the president, to the queen, not to mention a poor tourist! There was no one to talk to. No one to negotiate with. Nobody had ever asked me if I wanted to fall or not. Or, if I do need to fall, at least in which direction. I would have chosen sideways, so as to fall on the other side of the chasm.

And while I was falling I swear that if I had the time I would have printed pamphlets and manifests, calling for an insurrection, I would have started a revolution, with all of you by my side–I’m sure of it. But gravity was so hasty, I barely had time to scream, “I want democracy in physics!”

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