Lower Austra over there for sure, thinks Dickie Doom, looking west through a telescope from his position on Stoogle, at a cafe and boat repair establishment. Nice landscaping too.
—–
“So who’s your friend?” asked Debbie Doom to — we better determine a relationship — let’s say brother and sister instead of husband and wife. So: brother Dickie.
“Picked him up on the marketplace,” answered higher Dickie to lower sister Debbie on the tail of the sea monster. “Freebie,” he further explained. “Brand new as well; seemed to fit (the looming mystery).”
“Um hm,” she said. “Er, where’s his clothes?”
“Dunno,” answered Dickie, daring to look over at the lowest-of-all spectacle. Frog head, frog feet and hands, human body. He tried reloading (the outfit) but same result.
“And the rain.”
“Yes,” answers Dickie. “Somehow, one way or another, the Frog must turn into Prince.”
“P,” she said. “Power. He’s trying to tell us something.”
Sunklands 