than I could have anticipated, even had I had a head start in imagining it. I’m still falling, away from the Safe House and toward a lower surface that has not yet been revealed. The beings are falling with me, rotating in their conical language, telling campfire stories with a solemn, dutiful attitude, as far as I can tell. So I’ll drift down and listen with them for now, entertaining whatever they might have to say, and hoping that it entertains me. It is now January 2nd, and it may well be well into January before I reach solid ground.

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