“My goodness,” said the Librarian, as she placed the last book upon my already prodigious stack, “You sure must like books!”
“Oh yes,” I replied, turning to smile up at her, “They’re delicious!”

For some reason they won’t let me back in that library.

No one ever tells you the useful things in school. They never teach you how to slay dragons, or rescue fair damsels, or talk to marine life. They never instruct you of how to react when you are trapped in the dream of a city, or how exactly one tells an Egyptian chimera from a Sphinx (Funny story about that one actually. Not enough time for the whole thing, but the punch line is: “Oh no, not that old Giza!” Everyone laughs.) And they don’t teach you how to fly.

I was flying just a little while ago, actually. The thunderstorms really are the most interesting bits. But as I flew, just a short distance ahead of me, a series of murders was being committed. I turned to the lady beside me and asked:
“Isn’t that just horrible?”
But she had her headphones on.

In the wait room, just before they let you fly, a number of young men were arguing about marriage. They both agreed it was sacred, but exactly what that meant no one seemed able to agree on. I tried to explain to them that marriage was just an eight-letter word, and really not worth all the fuss, but they didn’t listen to me.
Afterwards a man with a talking turtle came on.

Everyone agreed he was fabulous.

Later, a delightful southern sea-witch begged me for my voice. She informed me that, that would be my end of the bargain and in return she would sell me a dream. I asked her, speaking of dreams, if she knew how to get out of a dream of a city, but I don’t think she understood the question.

“Apple cider and honey, love,” she replied, motioning for me to drink in my new voice, “And perhaps a little olive oil. It does go so delightfully with bread, not that you can have any.”

I think its okay she didn’t understand the question though, since I didn’t understand the answer.*

Soon after that I stopped flying.
It wasn’t a very skillful landing either.

The shadows laughed at me and, in my anger, I made fun of their own fashion sense.
They left crying, still refusing to bow.

It’s my fault as well, I should never have let them off to begin with.

I no longer dream or plan. Instead I wait:
1. Wait for the rising of the funeral detective.
2. Wait for a world of well-rhymed roses.
3. Wait for Bishop and the Underground King.
4. Wait, wait don’t tell me.
5. Wait for Bicami
6. Wait for the enchanter.
7. And wait for time.

“You rang?” inquired Time, a small watch serving him as eye patch.
“Yes,” I replied, shuffling my feet, “I was wondering about an extension?”
“An extension! But you’ve just begun!”
“I’ll give you a cookie.”
“Done.”

So that’s that then.

Clubs I be in:



*The answer is: Take a left at its nightmares, keep straight past its hopes, and head for the sky.

But only if the city in question has an airport.