I was in the dusty stepps of some shadow in Chaos.
I was drawing a pattern in the sand with a stick.
the pattern shifted and merged with itself
the pattern would not stay drawn the way I intended
"Simon. You're a twisted fuck."
I turned to see a man with dark skin in a black duster.
"I'm slinging it how it is - the truth is what it sounds like.
You and you just don't know it yet, Amber man."
He wasn't insulting me.
"You ain't never gonna find that knife, Chaos man, so just
fuckin' give it up. OK?"
He pulled a Trump card from his coat and gazed at it.
