She practiced her melting exercise atop a magazine vending machine in seedier Eastside, as she’s started to call it, still pondering the missing letter. It wasn’t 3 days ago from now. Yet.
She thought of the barrier between here and Far or Furtherer East, another one or two of her concocted terms. Even more seedier, she’s gathered. Seed itself.
Indeed this is where she’d find the missing letter.
Sunklands 