Nasko H. fell in love and jumped into the dark green crown of the apple tree. As he fell, he passed a thin wispy cloud of intentions with reckless ease, split a fog heavy with the desire for sleep, embraced a fervent whirlwind, and dived with a happily baffled sandstorm. He flew with the alluring facility of a loser, plunging, just as a thought was about to occur to him, into the green air of the apple crown. Splintered colours traced the trajectory of his happily descending body: just as it should be with all bodies that fall into apple trees, reasoned Nasko H.
He was almost ready.