Existence is smoke and all are fireflies in its belly. Time is not so much a thing as a state of mind. There are but membranes between all the worlds and the man whose mind is a knife may travel between them at will. A mind is often a simple thing. Many such minds, like sheep, may be herded. These are the things Vespesian knows.
Rain falls delicate as lace. The sky lowers, a frowning eye. His feet glide, silent, upon concrete, then cobble, then stone, then concrete again. When they strike...
Published on February 10, 2012 14:22