“You’re not going to Mary… me?”
Hector Horace Howard said in response. “You are for another, alas.” He added the last word in as improvisation. He looked toward the director for approval, with none coming. He was looking for himself.
In other local news, Hatti, the witch who told everyone at her doorstep to go away, has gone away herself, house (and also apparently hat) deleted. I think we have yet another piece of the overall picture puzzle.
“Goodbye 108. Goodbye V-Gate.”
He unfortunately found himself on the opposite side of the Greek village from the parish, staring into a mirror and admiring himself. Typical.
Later he went down to visit John. Jack was now playing the preacher, churches over liquor stores. A marriage was taking place. John was not allowed to perform marriages. Not after Reno.
“We need to *talk*,” he hissed over as the “I dos” were spilled out like fine wine.
“Meet me at the bar,” he whispered calmly back. Bells rang out. It was over.
(to be continued?)
John thought and thought and realized he wanted a Corona-V. “The new one,” he uttered in calm, stoic way, fit for a Man of Faith. Lamb was behind him now, supporting him, uplifting his career. He must get back to the parish. “I hate to do it but cancel that, Jack.” Man of Science was not amused. “John, *how* am I suppose to keep in bus–“, but he was cut short. John had disappeared (again). Jack re-turned. “I guess this one’s on you,” which user Peter Oesso didn’t argue with.
Come on, *dance* with me boys, the blue haired witch requested in her mind from the corner. Soon they were with her.
“*Just* escaped, whew!”
He had followed John down to the Ravine (bar) but he was no saint. Lamb equals Ram; he sees himself in his own face, the user power.
I was a beautiful little girl before becoming such a handsome man, he thinks, still changing, still metamorphasizing.
“I’ll have what John’s having, please.”
Brother Jack the bartender turns. “Yeah, what’ll it be, *John*??”