If he’s stationary, he feels it, like a vibration. Especially out in the streets, where his shoulders are jostled by the crowds of drones flittering back and forth from domiciles to occupations. When not in motion, he’s sinking. The concrete loses its molecular structure and becomes quicksand. Ready and willing to help make him disappear. So he keeps moving, like a shark that needs to move for its next breath. He fears the moment when he becomes weary.