Fish Head wasn’t in for some reason. He’s *always* in. He’s on his own again, at least for a little while. Probably one of those improbable bathroom breaks, he guesses. Fish Head usually just absorbs it internally but it eventually builds up, he reckons. Have to let go sometime, despite the dangers.
As he keeps stumbling and bumbling, he spots Soupie down a passageway. Soupie can help me, he realizes, thinking back to what the old Chinese cook told him last year about, who was it? The owner of the place. The one with the master map. “What you need to keep from getting lost, young dude, is a *plan*,” he said. Also: “Follow the pipes if worse comes to worse. Always follow the pipes.” He’d forgotten about that bit of advice until now. And he was sleeping right below them. Density, yes, but in his own brain. He figures he needs a refresher course. Fate he meets him.
—–
“Good, eh?” he spoke over while still stirring. Always stirring his patriotic soup this one is. Hence the name.
Guy nodded. “Good, yes, Soupie,” and took another slurp. 10 lindens. Very reasonable for a nice hot meal.
“Musshroooms. Fresh from Wonderland.” Guy recalled that Soupie called the fresh market down the street Wonderland for some reason, although its real name was just plain ol’ Fresh Market, or at least that’s the only official one he’d ever heard. He starts to feel a little funny in the head. He decides to tell him about his recent dreams.
Sunklands 