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“Wayne,” Wax said, walking past. “Stop talking to your hat and get over here.”
He’d always found it odd that so many died when they were old, as logic said that was the point in their lives when they’d had the most practice not dying.
“Proper loafing requires company. One man lying about is being idle; two men lying about is a lunch break.”
“Greet every morning with a smile. That way it won’t know what you’re planning to do to it?”
Tindwyl Promenade, which ran along this canal, was crowded—even more so than usual.
You had to adapt. Move. Change. That was good, but it could also threaten identity, connection, and sense of purpose.
Owning things of value is secondary to creating things of value where none once existed.”
“I’m not going to be a banker,” Waxillium said, climbing the steps. “Oh? You have your eye on administering the teamsters after all?” “No,” Waxillium said. “I’m going to be a hero.”
Slay!
alight and full of motion, even while shadowed by darkness and mist. Metal. In some ways, that was the true mark of mankind. Man tamed the stones, the bones of the earth below. Man tamed the fire, that ephemeral, consuming soul of life. And combining the two, he drew forth the marrow of the rocks themselves, then made molten tools.
But rich folk, they had a different word for the crapper. They’d call it a “commode” or a “washroom.” That way, when someone asked for the crapper, they knew it was a person they needed to oppress.
The law is not something holy, son. It’s simply a reflection of the ideals of those lucky enough to be in charge.”
No, freedom was not lack of responsibilities—it was being able to do what was right, without having to worry if it was also wrong.
Given the choice, if he died while trying to do something important, he’d rather that his bones get up and see it done right.
