Falling down

If she had been left to describe the incident herself, Zoe would have been remarkably concerned with the small, unimportant details.  She would have described the cold, unfeeling cinder blocks that made up the tight, gray walls of the hallway.  She would have told you about the bright, fluorescent lightbulbs that crackled and flickered as she walked past them.  There would have been excessive pontification about the rough-hewn stone floors, which were actually made of relatively smooth pieces of granite. 

Zoe most likely would have told you that she was talking to Albert in great seriousness about important matters - perhaps it was her upcoming appearance at the United Nations to present her proposal to eliminate world hunger, or maybe her plans to meet with the World Health Organization to tell them how they could stop the AIDS epidemic.  Perhaps she was sharing advice on how to best deal with friends who could not make their own decisions, or maybe she was simply sharing the secret of life.  In reality, she was probably telling stories about some famous person that she saw once and then claimed to be friends with.

Regardless of what Zoe had actually been talking about, it is simply important to know that she had been talking to Albert, and had been concentrating on him to the point of distraction.  Had she been paying more attention, Zoe might have realized that the hallway had turned into a stairway.  However, her attention was elsewhere, and rather than purposefully stepping down, Zoe stumbled and began a tumble.

Once more, if Zoe had been able to describe it herself, she would have remarked on the quality of workmanship apparent in the stairs, the crisp edges, the cold stone.  Zoe, however, was not able to describe it.  As she lay in a broken, bloody heap at the bottom of the stairs, it was clear that she would not describe anything ever again.

Albert, when questioned about the stairs later, simply replied, "There were 37 of them."

I write like
James Joyce

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