“Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for the Shanty Club. Francis? You may know him. He’s kind of the owner I suppose.”
“Meat City,” Barry DeBoy metes out. “Just up the highway.”
“Oh,” Baker Bloch exclaimed. “Is this not Meat City? It’s across the highway from NWES.”
“Nope,” Barry reinforced. “Just because it’s across the highway doesn’t mean it’s part of the city, even though this is.” Barry says “city” with some satisfaction. After all, he was there at the vote. His art definitely helped sway the deal. “Go back to the highway. Go up. Look for the stumbling drunks and head right, and then another right past Big Dave’s garage then left. Tell Francis I said hello.”
“A friend?” Baker ventured., trying to remember all the twists and turns to get there.
“Let’s just say I don’t underestimate his *aunts* any more.”
“Oh.” Baker left the small trailer without understanding. Francis explained it to him later at the club.
The Oracle predicted its placement over there in Diamondfyre but I’m still not convinced the temple will stay long term. The City is warming up to me but it’s not on fire yet, a brightly burning beacon.
But now that I recall, this has already happened, with even a bigger pop and a smaller one. Oesso. Continual window. We must think of bringing back Sandy for this here newest photo-novel which is numbered 22 in a series of 20.
The Invisible store has nothing in it, or else all the contents are invisible. Probably the former.
This nearby scrying mechanism is closed up.
Time to visit the bots?
“Heck of a year, huh Santa.”
Sticky prepared to explore the city, birds in hand.
Bastard buccaneer Randolph wondered how his eye suddenly got better and he doesn’t have to wear a patch any longer. Oh well, must be a stereotype. He eyes the old, dusty upright book in front of him, pondering the cover again. Peter Oesso should be here shortly, he thinks, furthering his evil plans for world domination. It’s only a matter of time. The Descent of Chaos.
He also wonders about the tanker burning brightly outside, and why it hasn’t exploded further.
Then, while still staring at the book with the hand and the 3, he remembers his former existence. Jim, the convenience store owner who sells Lucky Stripes. And indeed he has a patch.
He also remembers the burning tanker at the gas station is in the past as well.
The Martian steps into it.
“Who *are* you?” Marsha asked.
“My name is Jane. But you can call me Olive. Olive Green. I’m really just a kid beneath it all. Like you.”
“So I see.” She looked at the contract again before her on the table. With all the information.
“Sign… just there.” She pointed.
June Bug Jane had found her nest egg in Paradise. “Olive Green Pink”!
Two more contracts to create and she’s done.
Variant Name: Jin Yiin Yn Yuin Yyin
Yankton College closed in December 1984, and its campus became the site of Federal Prison Camp, Yankton, which opened four years later.
“Did you *ever* get those prison schematics I wanted, Norris?”
“N-not yet!” He tries to run (with scissors).
He doesn’t even know I’m looking in, listening. He stands there by the fire, trying to stay warm. Oblivious.
It’s the first artwork he encountered when entering House Greenup. Lemons and limes again, staring him right in the face. And eyes… The Man About Time is reminded that a sim called Residentia exists beside the Humansville one he just examined today. Our Second Lyfe, which now includes the newest continent of Bellisaria with its Humansville, Residentia, and many more sims, is inhabited by Residents according to Linden definitions. *The* Residents are an experimental rock group who disguise their identity through giant eyeball masks. One wonders if Philip Rosedale, creator of Our Second Lyfe, had them in mind when applying this specific name to the inhabitants of his realm. After all, both hail from the streets of San Francisco. But I digress…
7 Stones townspeople have a decision to make soon. Whether to keep the separated groundside galleries of House Greenup, SoSo, and Gallery Jack holding the entire “Art 10×10” of 100 collages baker b. produced between 2004 and 2009, or whether to combine the 3 galleries into a skybox (literally in this case: a box in the sky) traditionally called the Edwardston Station Gallery, dating back to 2009 and the end of the series. The Man About Time has an important vote in the matter. He doesn’t take citizenship — *residency* — in the virtual village lightly. It’s an honor to be here, he says to town owners Baker Bloch and Baker Blinker the next Wednesday after the third Monday of the month, when he paid his first rent for a Kidd Tower apartment. Almost at the very top: how lucky was he? Only [delete name] lives above him and [delete name] is rarely at home. But, then again, the Man About Time is out and about a lot as well. Best to cast his vote today, before something else comes up in Bellisaria, etc., that demands his immediate attention, past present or future. Thus the visit to House Greenup today, and, afterwards, Gallery Jack, SoSo, and then up in the sky to see the whole displayed in ESG.
But in staring around at the other collages hanging in the lower floor of House Greenup after ungluing his eyes from the first (which is actually the last: Greenup 20 instead of Greenup 01, although they make an animation with each other and The Man About Time is not the first visitor to make this last-for-first mistake), he’s already made up his mind basically. This house should stay, which means, domino effect, that SoSo must stay which means that Gallery Jack must stay.
“Ahh. ‘Floydada’,” coos The Man About Time after walking around the stairs. “What I’ve been looking for.”
“Unlike with the chickens just outside, my creator plays fair instead of fowl. Fairmount fair.”
“As opposed to Fowlerton fowl, I get it.” Even though they might be considered rivals, Grown Up Kate McCoy, another avatar auditioning for a part in our newly blossoming Collagesity novel, was truly amused by this big orange cat she currently shared the Red Devil “Hot Spot” Sofa with, not feeling the least bit competitive with him. Didn’t hurt that he hates dogs too. We can both enter the game, she muses, perhaps as a team. Another Dynamic Duo. The Fair Party. Down with Fowl, so on. Could be a nice angle.
“You know they’re from the same hometown, Jimmy and my creator,” the large feline continues. But male as hell.
“I didn’t know that,” she replies, hand cupped under chin in a rapt listening position. “Do tell more.”
“Hatfield!” Baker Bloch shouts from beside the missile across the room, so fiery upon its return. “You’re up.” He points up.
“Looks like my turn on The Moon.” The orange cat prepares to rise from the red sofa.
“Break a leg up there,” Kate encouraged before he left her side. “And put in a good word for me. Fair words instead of fowl, ha.”
He pats her diminutive hand with his giant paw. “I will.” He saw where this was going too. A team — a ticket, even. Like Jim A. Garfield and Chester A. Arthur before them. Question is: which is which. He’d have to be top dog no doubt, then pardoned himself for the expression.
“Maybe we should both be time traveling Blue Feather Douglas in this saga.”
“Past, present, future,” Tracy Austin agrees, wondering if she should have her baby before or after the production.
The poor, pitiful sob, she thinks while staring back across the circle.