Friday, 18 December 2015



The horizon’s just crossing up over the sun when they show. Two people. Look like men, but that don’t mean much.

“We have come far, and are weary,” says one. Weary? They’re not even breaking a sweat. Must be packing some mighty fine implants to be just strolling across the badlands like that. They’ve no stuff with them, not even guns. If they don’t need guns out here, I don’t need any trouble with them.

“This shack ain’t no hotel,” I say. “But plenty of rocks to lay on. Be my guest.”

Well, there’s no fire from heaven coming down. Guess I passed God’s secret customer test. I didn’t let on, but the wings really give them away.



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