He answered without hesitating, watching as Amelión continued to trace a finger along the horizon where rock met sand.
“Not like that. Look at me, please before you answer, so that I know you are truthful in-the-now. It’s important to me.”
The third world tarmac rolled out ahead of him, a curved drop-off to the port side plunging rapidly into the amber desert bowl. It was far from straight and its uniformity in colour almost-completely camouflaged its non-uniform level. He sighed and focused, pushing smoothly against
“Reds and ambers and west-end winters; Snowflake decor and late-night sinners.” Meet me on the nightbus on the edge of Out and Home Meet me where the lines will blur of comp’ny and alone Meet me on the upstairs deck with its heightened edge
Under wide blue skies Over breezy seas On lake-like lagunas Witnessless We would ride the tides And brave the waves And fill the sail To make the break Ocean sun Breeds rich folk’s fish But peace like this Is a poor man’s hand