A water molecule veered from the jet’s vapor trail as the cloud of exhaust dispersed into the stratospheric winds. The molecule floated freely for several thousand meters before condensing onto a rain cloud. It then joined with a droplet and fell through the haze blanketing Everytown, gathering speed to eventually smack lightly on the forearm of the man who, had he known the molecule’s origin, would have proclaimed it to be the spawn of a government-funded, mind-controlling chemtrail.
The man–alias Fowler–reclined in a lounge chair on the porch under an aluminum awning, his frame in shadow from the neck up. Long legs stretched out from vermillion shorts, pushing the limits of a plastic stool.