At 4:13 in the morning, Duncan had something. He sat in a chair in Leemington above Necrotee above Yelloo, high in the sky like (on) a ship or a plane. Pilot Tickie was around, he knew, who wasn’t a bad meanie at all, not any more. He sat with his prescient turtle staring
south east. Duncan was here to talk about the turtle.
But then it wasn’t a turtle any longer. It was a lemon. With legs. And they were staring at 2.
(to be continued)