“Oh we get that all the time,” spoke the one who wasn’t crying. “We’re *sisters*, though. *Not* lovers.”
“Speak for *yourself*,” the other said, the one who wasn’t scowling. “I’ve always thought you had a hot bod.”
“*You’re* the looker. And everyone knows, crying is more acceptable for a girl to do than, well, what I do. And I’m *not* scowling, baker b. You can stop writing that in your blog.”
“Well, um, what do you do here? (pause) In the land of Bottles?”
“We stare at silhouettes,” the one who wasn’t crying deadpanned back.
I was at one hundred and I had more clues ta boot. Something about Bottles vs. Cans — the Centalia Line which may be east-to-west but also north-to-south, depending on the direction. Either direction time and space change. Something is different here from where, say, Marion Star Harding works at the Southern Cross Regional Airport above the line, sometimes flying fantasy people back to their original homes. Didn’t work for rain damaged Kolya but perhaps it should. I need to catch up with him.
I decided to return to the sisters for one last question but they said they didn’t know their near neighbor Marion. Another glance at the silhouettes and I could tell they were lying. Plus they were now cuddled up awfully close for sisters.