He lived in a house that leaned over like a melting candle. The roof came to a point that jabbed sideways toward the city. But from his window all he could see was the ground.
He planted shrubs and trees outside his melting home. Every summer the house seemed to melt a little more, but every winter it held firm and he forgot. Soon, however, it had withered so far that his window showed him the wall of his own house. His bedroom stood upside down in the curled over top of the building.
Soon, the rest of the building followed, until its base stood in the air and its tip pointed straight down into the ground. He lived upside down, but he never knew. From his window, it seemed that the rest of the world was upside down and not he himself. The city with its infinite lights and confusing cacophony seemed always in motion – but backwards, upside down motion.
He lived in his upside down home, the blood rushing to his head, and never saw the world right side up again.