He was in Pieve, Alysha beside him per usual. Her gams glistened in the morning dew; so did his, for that matter. 3.16 instead of 3. He has a bottle instead of a can so he knows this coke experience is real. We are truly back in the past.
It doesn’t work any other way, he reviewed in his mind. The circumference of the circles must be that instead of 3. City Park… County Park… Country Park, the latter basically inactive this time of year because, mainly, of the blocking poison ivy. My shortcut meadow is now full of it (!).
But City and County give me a lot to explore in the summer, which has only just started, he thinks. TOM, for one.
“Tom,” he said aloud, hoping Alysha would respond. “Um, w-what?” she said groggily, having fallen asleep in her lounge chair. Not enough shut-eye last night, she then excused herself, which Kolya obviously understood.
“Tom,” he repeated carefully, not wanting to spill the beans too early. He had become good at saving them up. But sometimes it happens. Like last night.
“Oh yes,” she recalled, stretching her arms and yawning. “The mountain… Top O’ Mountain. TOM.”
He waited a while again. “What…”
“… do you think we should do with it?” she completed for him, gams for gams. 3.16 he thought again. Something is about to begin.
Sunklands 