The characters have started talking to each other. So far, I'm only an eavesdropper. A note-taker. One has demanded a name change. "Some dignity," he said. Okay. It's name day. Boone is an old eight.
I'm letting the imagery in the cloth, the things that slip out of the shadows into the light, lead me back to the words. The solid ones and the ones still waiting. I'm happy about what's *finished* excited about the things still spinning out of the ether.
Sparks and Pearls are part of the same cloth.
This scene part of a much larger story. (explicit material advisory)