Vignette from Cafe Altura

Somewhere above the mesosphere, just north of the dandelion puff formation known as The Pusteblumen, Café Altura floated like a dewdrop suspended in a dream—its translucent dome aglow in Copenhagen blue, breathing the quiet hush of altitude and intention. Harry Atkins sat by the Aeolian Corner, his harp-timer already flipped, golden sand whispering down…