He takes another drag off his cigarette, stares over again. “Swamp Shack Purple,” he speaks aloud after exhaling, reviewing what he currently knows. “With the purple and raspberry furniture now; just shifted over wholesale from Swamp Shack Brown where it was before — on Halloween Day 2021, when Wheeler and I last visited together. She wore a raspberry beret for the 1st time, I believe. She was fascinated by that *box* — couldn’t stop staring at it, eyes darting all around. Then the purple photo with the, ahem, rump also happened sometime but (obviously?) not here. Futurist outfit.” He takes another drag, another exhale of smoke. It might get a bit in his eyes this time. He’s starting to have trouble seeing the truth, what actually occurred and the probable realities involved. A tub was there — he got that. He decides to bring Wheeler over, maybe his wife but maybe not his friend. Unless they could go back in time. To that night. So that is what he requested after the teleport invite was accepted. Wheeler was always online anymore. No problem contacting. Now to convince her .
“No go,” she said, complicit at least in the outfit. “We were in the Brown Shack before. Now we’re in the Purple Shack. Different perspective.” But then they found the key in the sink, right as Wheeler was literally washing her hands of the whole situation. The water ran right over it, but the thing, on its chain as it were, was a little too large to wash down the drain. Their story and perhaps marriage was saved by the chain. Now they can open that box.
“Dearest!” she called over before the red and violet cups. “You need to see this!”
(to be continued)
Sunklands 