fig.34.87) the damned, waiting for slack The boxes are hastily described with a few hashed markes and a beavers stout trunk emerges. There's a clipped rattle as brushes are dropped into the thin red ceramic cup. The perfect handle is long since broken. There's a lily sitting in the window beside her as the drawer continues drawing. Some grey is added and then the weight of the page shifts. I've known her for a lifetime it seems, she's been my foil. I tell her that I'll be back again soon and Katt nods dismissively. "Grabbers, not pussy grabbers but the normal kinder kind. The slow moving refugee kind," the old man shifts inside of his long dark cloak. He seems to be a clown but he has a magisterial air. Dyspeptic and out of sorts like an older child with special needs. I should go so far as describing him thusly, he's an august houseplant that's both fat and ignoble of character. His mendicancy, despite his appearance is consumptive unto to