“May I remind you just here that this *could* have been you.”
“No time for dwelling in alternate realities, Jonny. The Prophet’s successor just disappeared in front of us (!). After talking about Alpha Centauri!”
“I wish I could be comforted,” Jonny continued nonplussed, “that aliens were up there, looking after our well being or *not* looking after it. But, truth be told, the only blood sucking vampires up in space with reptilian skin are the corps sitting atop their high towers in their fancy, snakeskin suits with their eyes all lit up from all the eddies they’re taking from the common people down below. I’m a realist V(al). It’s all here and now for me. Look around. What’s in front of your face. No escapist fantasy for this ol’ rocker boy.”
“Speaking of which, Jonny. What do you know about (the town of) Rocky Boy out in the desert? Per chance: named for you?”
“I’d rather not go down that path, talking about alternate realities.” He looks down at his feet, exhales. “Yeah, admittedly I had a hand in that you could say, ha.” He dexterously wiggles the fingers on his silver one, looks over at the Hustle Girl again as we’ve started to call her. He was expressing *his* desired reality in no uncertain terms.
Jonny later said that people *can* just wink out in Nightsity; it’s not unheard of. Because it’s all part of the Matrix, he expressed — everything we know is, he held firm.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 