The Anthropology of Falling

The rain had come suddenly, sweeping over Milwaukee with a restless chill that made the late autumn air bite sharper than expected. You had been caught in it—of course you had—your umbrella stubbornly refusing to open while you darted across the university campus. By the time you made it to the library, your jacket clung to you like a second skin, and your shoes left faint trails on the polished floor.

Inside, the old library smelled faintly of paper, ink, and rain-soaked wool coats. You shook yourself off, only to hear a familiar voice echo through the stacks.

“Late again, I see.”

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