Brad stared through the dirty, soot-smeared window on the 22nd floor of the office tower. Overcome with depression, he slid the window open and jumped through it. It was a sheer drop outside the building to the ground. Miraculously, he landed completely unhurt. Since there was nothing to cushion his fall or slow his descent, how could he have survived the fall?
This riddle had me clinched tighter than my grandmother would clinch my cheeks between her spotty, wrinkly fingers. I just couldn’t figure out the answer, which irritated me, as I myself was a detective. I closed the newspaper, and stood up from my morning regalement. It was almost time to get to work.