On cruise ships at anchor they line the railings to watch your step—this one up, this one up, the next four down, a couple up, ten more down.
You can swallow that bite of pastry but it won’t stay down.
You can drop a coin at your feet, pick it up at your ankles.
A newborn’s first journey in Alfama is the 15cm ascent from crib to change table.
One kid kicks the ball past another. By sundown it's ridden an ebb tide out to sea.
The trees don’t know which way to grow. I stepped on a leaf the other day!
Your shoes age erratically.
If your mood is rising, it’s likely, around the next corner, to descend.
Last night, turning over in your sleep, you woke up three feet lower.
You’re always lower than you used to be.
But this is the closest you'll be to bottom.