"Not a care in the world, that one."
The trick, see, the real trick, Cabanela knew, lay in the balancing act. A simple play when your scale was a singular truth.
As he flipped his umbrella onto its hook and slid off his scarf, draping it over his chair, his eyes fell on the accursed paper left for him that morning. The rain pattering against his office window was no longer the light dance he'd enjoyed, but a dull leaden sound.
He'd never felt so heavy.
The truth was his scale. The truth was his counterweight. They would rise above.