Turns out Philip Linden, maker of Our Second Lyfe itself, was a neighbor to me on my island of Constants, but he was another one of those on the edge, ready to drop off the world — his world, after all — with any significant push or wind. Boy does *he* have a whopper of a story to tell, though. Hopefully he can get to it at least in part before gravity and entropy does its inevitable damage.
Dancing Chuck awaits downstairs after it is all said and done, a reward for a job well done. Throw a towel on why don’t you (!).
I knew something I had to tell him: that this wasn’t His Second Lyfe any longer; this island was different. Looking into the future, perhaps that’s the info which pushes him over the edge, causing him to fall to pieces. I’ll try out that theory soon. At least he doesn’t seem to have a swollen head about world creation any longer. Less to break when he tumbles.
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Elves on the roof, another tale to tell.
Sunklands 