He’d shot all over the world, flying hither and thither. He’d seen it all, final resting place acquired. Including the ultra-illusive Bigfoot, the Holy Grail of bagging and tagging. Why go on? he said to himself. And so he didn’t. The concrete (marker) indicated death, the *other* great adventure, the 2nd 1/2 truth to go along with a first. Pisces not Virgo. Prices not Vigo (Alabama).
But then LL announced the filling in of the se corner of Omega and the game was suddenly on again after all these years of rest and hibernation. The TAR (car) was rebuilt, adding the prefix RE to an original name. In the Tar Swamp where it came from; that’s why we’re here. On Lake Nip. In Massachusetts. I’ll let you research the rest.
Local rumors of a UFO landing in the swamp, such as reported by fishermen like Horace here, were just that. Snakeworthy Price had paid the Price and acquired a (new?) last name in the process. There was more than one. Stamp him SOLD as in OUT.
Peering through the bushes or tall grass where it landed, Horace finds the whole truth and nothing but the truth. REbirth. And with a fresh paint of green.
“I *hate* Snakeworthy Price,” says onlooking Rudy from beyond the wall. TBC?
Sunklands 