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They might be impossible, but that was no excuse for them to be structurally unsound.
“Love is love. If anybody tries to tell you your love’s not worth having, shoot them in the kneecaps a couple of times. It won’t change their minds, but it’ll make you feel better.” –Frances Brown
Adults, who have a lot more years of inherent visual assumptions to claw through, mostly don’t notice the architectural oddities, or dismiss them as “quaint” and “old-fashioned,” dragging their sometimes weeping children through the last standing remnants of someone else’s idea of occupied Mars.
NO,” SAID CYLIA CALMLY, taking another swig of her lemonade. She swallowed, sighed, and added, “I wish like hell I could risk something stronger, but you know what they say about day drinking. Once you start, it’s a hop, skip, and a jump to waking up one day as a bartender in some crappy coastal tourist resort, shaking your denim-clad rear for tips. I like bartenders. I like denim miniskirts. But wow, do I hate tourists.”
Sam and I both stared at her blankly. Finally, in a hesitant tone, Sam said, “I don’t think anyone says that. Like, ever. I don’t even believe that you’ve said that before just now.” Cylia shrugged. “Yet here we are.”
Humans are predators, for all that they prefer their food pre-killed and packaged for their convenience: motion catches their eyes more than any other thing.
