||[Jan. 22nd, 2006|07:09 pm]
|[||This novel feels
Someone else's dream had moved into his head: roses, meltdown, fleece, curry.
The prime minister across the table from him wore a look of concern, while The Three At His Back chuckled and then guffawed, and he knew that if Lyric didn't call soon, he'd be dead.
"Look," said the Three At His Back, "if you're not going to give us the almanac, I don't see much point in continuing to negotiate."
-- The Seas of Mailmen