My difficult education was multiply knived. Dirt kissed me in a hemisphere of basketballtown, known map, horseshoe latitudinal. The recess in which the steel arch of the padlock rests, a correlate of ocean. Incoming message, are you home, I locked myself in the car, but still I'm driving. The signs are strange here. Some are red, and some are sleepless people.

Chapter one, Ripjohn said as we approached our hotwheels holily. History was lagging behind but still in mouthshot, their karma sweetened with heavy crime. Teeth-holes, likely beautyghoul-belonging, had meanwhile constellated the rainbarrel in which our hotwheels were still very steaming and spinning. We all piled into the car accident.

And manymany rivermiles to go, Ripjohn said to his censer. Whatnow.

I'd like to reconvene and reconsider, History whispered into a hole in Ripjohn's backward bluewhite conductor cap.

Not east, deadtired, goldenward I drove. Unmournful of Patches, we re-reascended downtown. My claws hooked forward and backback into themselves, so intent was I on outwitting inertial hysteria. Couldn't see for all the damage to the windshield, but knew the way, could smell it. Coming down from the great big bridge, I gasbraked just in time to hit-miss a supine widget in the hand of an idiot whom we also hit, killing them instantly. But me. Law wallop all but me.