“Let’s go with *this* picture instead, Hindsight, er, Golden.”
“Yes, call me Golden. For now.”
“O-*kay*, Golden (*tee hee*).”
“More light, I agree.” Hindsight/Golden knew the squeaky voiced sponge being was always right. He was worshiped in many galaxies.
Those who didn’t worship him were often left in the dark. Pitchfork territory.
He has a son. I’ll deal with him next. Hindsight/Golden turns here toward the CB Dylan dresser. “And the wife.”
Sunklands 