“Where’s your wife, David Bowie? I mean, Little Tonshi.”
Little Tonshi then pitched the proposition. “Give me Wheeler (for that). And I’ll give you a whole ‘nother Second Life, Buster. A better one. Like Grand Theft Auto, except 1700 times more choice.”
“Umm… I don’t understand.”
Little Tonshi turned into just Tonshi. Bettie. “The airport on top of the hill. It’s not an airport, of course. It’s a recording studio. There I made ‘Heathen,’ my best later work. Many subterranean passages exist within. In one I’m myself and a shadow of myself.”
“Still not getting it…”
“You deserved better than this Buster. I have many friends that are aiding me. Levi Clownski said he would personally pay for your ticket outta here. He doesn’t want you around.”
“I said I’m sorry (about the killing). Many many years ago. Many times in many years.”
“This is not about that. I’ve learned to accept my fate obviously. We are not enemies. It’s just you don’t belong here.”
“Of course I do.”
“No.”
“Then where?”
—–
“*Where*??”
Sunklands 