The wind blows hard as we enter the village.
Well pump replaces rocket ship on the next encountered welcoming sign. The pump is a rocket?
Ah ha. Well pump standing by itself in an otherwise vacant lot more on the edge of the tiny hamlet. Launching pad?
And then another one in the exact center, blue instead of white.
Visiting Roger Pine Ridge (as it turns out) waits on a bench at the store he saw pictured on that rock, the one that absorbed Marty. Maybe Marty is here, he reasons. Might make sense. He’ll give it a couple more minutes or hours or days at least. Years.
The flapping continues. Roger is unable to light one of his personally rolled white sticks because of it. Sparks too dangerous in a spot so wooden and full of history.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 