Michael never missed a beat. Even when he and his brother James were high as airplanes, and the whole world was moving too fast and too slow at the same time, and James was hopping all over the sidewalk, randomly spitting rhythms and rhymes and calling out, complimenting, every sweet piece to walk by, Michael kept his head. He watched the earth grow a little warmer when some old Asian dude stopped to throw out his empty coffee cup. He sensed the skies preparing to drop hundreds of tons of water per second onto the parched concrete, threatening to sweep him, his brother, and all of humanity away in the deluge. And he observed the universe pass them silently by as his brother jumped and danced through nebulae, nursing yet unborn stars with the energy he gave off through his moving feet.
And Michael never lost sight of the now. When the second to last celestial comet swerved into a parking spot way in the back of the lot, he knew it was almost time for class. Silently, he got up from the bench, giving his brother the nod that it was time to go. There would be time to comment on the cosmos later.