Tender is the Flesh

He understands the powerlessness felt by this young inspector who needs something out of the ordinary to happen so his day will be worthwhile, this inspector who's suspicious about the whole scene and has to resign himself to not doing his job, this inspector who's clearly not corrupt, who never would have accepted a bribe, who's an honest man because there are a few things he doesn't understand yet, this inspector who reminds him so much of himself when he was young (before the processing plant, the doubts, his baby, the series
of daily deaths) and thought that complying with regulations was what mattered most, when in some inaccessible corner of his mind he was glad about the Transition, glad to have this new job, to be part of this historic change, to be thinking about the rules that people would have to comply with long after he'd disappeared from the world, because the regulations, he'd thought, are my legacy, the mark I'll leave behind.

He never would have imagined he'd break the very law he established.

And when they climbed the bridge, his father pointed to the stained-glass man with wings and the birds alongside him and smiled. "Everyone says that he fell because he flew too close to the sun," his father said, "but he flew, do you see what I mean, Son? He was able to fly. It doesn't matter if you fall, if you were a bird for even just a few seconds

The next time your mother wants to teach you," his father said, "pretend to struggle a bit first." When he eventually did whistle in
front of her, she jumped for joy and applauded