Joaquin spun clouds, based from oils, for tourists and locals alike. When he was younger, businesses paid him for this. When the money stopped coming and his family stopped visiting and he no longer set his alarm for his medicine, he kept flying every weekend. Even though Joaquin forgot to turn off the TV, the lights, and occasionally the stove, he never forgot how to skywrite.
On his last Sunday, his plane looped in the sky. With elegant twists, the locals on the sand watched him spin the words “How do I land?” Within minutes, the clouds smeared with the winds. “What a sense of humor,” someone said, watching him fly deeper out to sea.