“I could just ram this smaller grey boat crosswise through those bigger black and white boats over there and end this.” Josh Richardson: professional insultant.
Called back to Maebaleia? Tour aborted? Fern Stalin better hightail it out of here in her own, much larger vessel. If she could only get the darn thing started. “Turn baby! Turn!”
—–
We’re losing characters right and left in this new photo-novel. We’re up to 30, W. Should I call you W still?”
W: “Sure”. Small pause. “Whatever rings your bell.”
“Bell, right.” He’s remembering. And Clare, the other head, the one actually attached to the body. Better find them, talk to them about TILE. Before the boy returns. But her house next to the snow and granite, Tennessee and Kentucky schism chasm is gone. And Clarksey is a bit too far away to use yet, both in space and in time.
*huff huff huff*
“It’s a conundrum, W.”
“You set them up. You knock them down. You’ll push through. Find me,” she ends.
Sunklands 