“Oh Baker Bloch. I was hoping that was you down here.” But Old Mabel then knew it wasn’t Baker Bloch. This was Wilson. “Oh… sorry. Hello Wilson.”
“Please, call me Wheeler Old Mabel,” and then Wilson turned into the appropriate form for this nomenclature. “Have you seen that picture by chance?” Wheeler points to her left at Wheeler 02 displayed on the Big Board, as she’s come to call the screen with the interweb feed at the Table Room.
Old Mabel sits in the suave chair next to the Big Board to get a closer look. “I think I’ve seen it in SoSo Mall, maybe.”
“Look at the sewing machine. What’s the name?”
“Let’s see. Um, it says Wheeler… Wilson. Hmmm. Like you.”
“That is all,” says Wheeler abruptly. “You can go.”