Fascinated by a sudden wave of silence, I retreat into an endless balance on one leg, searching for the immobility that no wire-walker can ever find on a wire. Today, maybe, with the help of such a prodigious height, I…

But I have trespassed long enough into these forbidden regions; the gods might lose patience. I offer my farewell to the New York sky: by running on the wire that shakes with allegresse, thus bringing down the curtain on the most splendid performance ever offered by a street-juggler/vagabond/high-wire artist.

‘Look! He’s dancing, he’s running!’ scream my friends below, applauding my exit. They argue over the number of crossings: ‘He crossed six times!’ ‘No, eight!’ ‘He was on the wire 45 minutes!’ ‘No, an hour!’ I, a bird gliding back and forth between the canyon’s rims, did not count the voyages. I land on the roof of the south tower. The octopus grabs me violently.