His elbows resting atop the balustrade, Walter Atherton took one final bite of the apple and casually tossed it over the edge. When he was a boy he'd watch the apples fall, bouncing against the steep, nearly vertical walls, but by now he'd lost interest. He could imagine it falling as he walked away though, down the hide of the great beast atop which they'd built their city. Eventually it would slip into the red-orange haze that covered the surfaces of the Earth and come to rest on her barren soil. We should be somewhere near Seattle, he thought.