“It was not just me in the Back Rooms. There were others, but we all had our own little cubby hole in the place. There was Jack to the right of me, Monkey below. And I believe someone named Marshall or Marshill above, although I can’t quite place the face. Jack’s (sigh): hard to remember too. And Monkey always wore that space suit so I never saw his face either. Come to think of it…
“… *I* didn’t have a face.”
“Oh sure you did,” I encouraged. “You were Shelley. Trapped in the Back Rooms along with your boyfriend Edward D. Trapped as trapped can be. Part of that Flesh Pit actually, as it turned out. It’s *everywhere*.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m trying to tell you to leave this place, this Aisle of Palms. Heck, go to the *real* Aisle of Palms (road) in that salty sea village in California. Follow Strevor’s footprints in trying to find his own true self as Trevor up in that video game in the real world. Try to *escape*.”
It was not cold. It was warm, warm as hell. She didn’t need any of Fern’s heavy garb for this one. Or gab. She was on her own, lower than brilliant but certainly not plain. It was a quandry, a conundrum. Should I stay or should I go.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 