The parachutists were painting on the wall again. They’d drop from a plane, and as they descended by the gymnasium, they were pulling out spray paint cans, and spraying the wall in random lines and colors that represented diversity. They’d toss the cans just before landing. But one of the cans hit a reporter in the head and sent him into convulsions. The parachutist ran over to help. “What can I do to help?” he said. “Absolutely nothing,” the victim said. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?” the parachutist said. “I don’t think there’s a need to do that,” the victim said. He was still convulsing, but it wasn’t affecting his speech. “I’m Rick,” said the parachutist. “Sandy,” said the victim. He reached out to shake Rick’s hand but it flew back behind his head and turned over unnaturally. “This can’t be all I can do to help you,” Rick said. “Just wait it out,” said Sandy. “That’s really all you can do.” “I must have hit you in the part of your head that affects seizures,” Rick said. “I’m not sure about that,” Sandy said. His back started to arch off the ground. Rick lied on top of him to try to keep his back down. “I can’t really breathe when you do that,” Sandy said. “Try to breathe slower,” Rick said. “Get off me,” Sandy said. “There’s no need to panic,” Rick said. But it wasn’t enough. Sandy started to levitate, and then floated over the gymnasium roof. We watched him float up into the clouds, and when he disappeared inside one, we wondered if he’d popped or was now somewhere over the ocean, heading for another country.