It’s really up to us what to make of this NWES City, thought Harrison Jett in the moment, staring at the canal that runs through the center of it all. Blank slate, he contemplates. Bigfoot, he ruminates. 12 or 13 seasonal victims, depending on the weather and how hard it snows and what she can get away with. But always 12/13. Better get back to the Man About Time and see how poor, sick Carrcassonnee is faring. Displaced again!
—–
“She’s not doing well at all,” offered the Man About Time, keeping watch over the withering, alien figure of a former Collagesity ruler on her last leg. “It’s the lack of center; she’s away from her nourishing tree, her temple. Can’t we…”
“No,” spoke over Harrison Jett plainly. I realized who he might be. An amalgamation. There *must* be some reason why I dwell on all that a lot of the time. I’ve been shut out (!).
“I am who I am,” said Harrison Jett, reading my mind. Another Popeye situation. Speaking of which…
—–
“She’s dead, Jim. What should we do with the eye?”
“Bury it,” spoke Harrison Jett bluntly again. “Wait. We’ll throw it in the canal and let it float downstream. Wait. There is no downstream.”
“Yeah, I was going to add that.”
“It’s all flowing the same way. Nowhere.”
“That’s where we are (!)”
“What a waste of a life.”
“Not waste. It’s up to us to take us somewhere.”
“Exactly what I was thinking earlier on. Before I knew how bad this was getting.”
“Well it’s over now.”
“What about the other, erm, 6 parts. Oklahoma? Olive?”
Sunklands 