Okay, she’d finally found something that interested her in the past. A numbers station, broadcasting all the figures. She could call somebody! She first thought of Charlie Banana, an old lover. Good ol’ Charlie. Peach of a guy. But then a Siamese cat suddenly landed on the table from somewhere on high and talked to her instead. Wrong Charlie contacted (mentally). He said she’d missed something in Paperville and that she needed to return. Thinking the cat meant her blue-green shoes, she stated to it she’d already retrieved them, and plopped them on the table in front of him to gander at. As you can see, she’d also bought a matching dress in the meantime to fit in better with the past all around her.
Was it the shoes? the God-like cat thought, still ready to fill a void if needed. But now Axis was in control of Paperville. Poetry Dancer here’s brother, or maybe former brother. And then there’s lover Barry X. Vampire. She desires the past, though. Charlie Banana. All the numbers. He better say the shoes were what he was thinking of and take his leave; regroup; try to find another angle (of communication). The past is the past, though. No changing or altering it. That’s why he doesn’t like to go there — here. No malleability; he likes malleability. Change. Flow. The Siamese cat takes its leave.
“I’ll leave you with the other Charlie,” it said/meowed/purred to Poetry. “It’s my mistake; that was the Charlie you desired in the moment. Not me. My bad,” it apologized again, and then wondered if he was overdoing it.
Charlie poofed out. Another Charlie poofed in. All the numbers.
“Hi doll baby.”
Sunklands 