by John Skipp
Chapter Fourteen
Okay. Postscript.
The next hour was spent cleaning up the mess in Aurora's restaurant, and getting Ralph back to her apartment to crash.
Which brings us to now, with me falling asleep on my keyboard, trying to tap in the "end of the story so far. " I can't tell you much about what happened before we walked in the door, that's better left to Aurora to tell.
She's sitting at her desk right now, with her creepy wiggly quill pen in her hand, struggling to recount her part of the tale we've both fallen into writing.
We've both always had this writing bug (I guess that's why we became such good friends to begin with) and both feel compelled now to set all of this down as it happens. We've stumbled right into this gristly, fluorescent chunk of history - witnessing it just seems to be the one right thing we can do right now.
Hey little computer buddie - you in there?
air
I'm going to sleep. Knock yourself out. Oh - and thanks for trying to help this afternoon. Anything you can add from now on would be helpful. I don't know what the hell you're saying most of the time, but you seem to have an inside line, somehow. Maybe I'm full of shit. Hey, well, Tetris is a fun game if you get bored in there. Goodnight.
ite.
