I’m a servant on an expedition somewhere reminiscent of Egypt. I am enlisted as an unplanned mediator between leaders of the expedition when they can’t reach an agreement. It’s my wizard friend Devin Person and some fancy Cleopatra-esque girl. The setting is like a Burning Man camp or an Arab Bedouin tent. We’ve set up a shade structure, the corners piled with throw pillows. There’s difficulty figuring out where to put the camp’s garbage can full of nitrous chargers. When they do their nitrous ritual, there’s a special mantra people are supposed to say; it’s inscribed on a plaque on the wall. I’m not really looking forward to hosting people.
In my hometown family room. A foil musical record is kept in a locked metal closet. There’s a love note from an acquaintance, Lydia, to her husband Paul da Plumber discovered in outer sleeve cover of photo album.
Review for Flora Grubb, perhaps Flora Grubb’s relative with the same last name.
Sailor Moon’s design, or redesign, focused around big boobs.
Practicing my long synthesizer keyboard in the garage, the keys can be early lifted off. That’s how I discover that they are for some reason wider, as I lift one up, turn it around, and compare its size directly to the beautiful antique piano with gold autumnal inlaid keys.