I’d caught up with Redd but turned out it wasn’t in Heywood but Watson, Kabusie to be specific about a city district and its namesake Roundabout Market to exactly pinpoint. She looked considerably older than when she would have known Frank. She’d obviously been through a lot here in this city of Night. Beaten down.
She smoked like Plan Man seen earlier in this here photo-novel 46 in a long long series it could turn out to be (80 by 100 100 by 80). And, correspondingly, she knew a lot about a certain canal or channel leading from a certain pool of water with a certain wrecked car survived by a certain cat who might have took on the identity (spirit) of the dead driver. Person named Phil. Who, in turn, knew all about a man named Happyacre.
Or was it Honeyacre? Let’s make it Honeyacre.
Sunklands 