A poised young woman stares out from the poster, which has been printed on thick, cream-coloured parchment. You take a moment to stare at the quantity offered as an award; even with the fall of the economy, seventy million pounds could buy an entire apartment in the downtown.
Odds bodkins, it’s gotten late! What are you still doing out on the streets? Do you even know?
Despite the dim light visible through the dusty windows, the bookstore is locked. It’s too bad-- such establishments are becoming all too rare, and you would have liked to see a book in person.
You peer in through the window, and see that roll upon roll of fabric are stacked right up to the ceiling! What could one possibly do with so much cloth?
Wouldn’t a person go mad living beside a clocktower? And why on earth are all the curtains pulled so tight?
Congratulations, you have located… a pile of trash.
You almost didn’t spot the black leather bag tucked into the shadows of the doorway. Glancing around, you unclasp it and, hesitantly, begin to root around inside. From it you pull a thick burgundy overcoat, a mink fur arm muff, and a pair of smart leather shoes. How curious, that someone should leave a bag full of such quality garments lying abandoned in the street.
This branch seems proud of its ribbon, for all the leaves it's showing off.
The light this ribbon is tied round seems opposed to flickering.
Odd how clean this ribbon-clad dumpster is.
That bird has a shifty look about it.
Well, it’s no £70,000,000, but at least it’s something.
Where on earth do words come from? Who is responsible for the utter atrocity that is “moist”? And what about “flesh”? Who looked down at themselves and thought, ‘why surely the word for this amalgamation of skin and fat and muscle should sound precisely like the sound a snake makes at the precise moment its soul leaves its body’?
Although she is looking right at you, she does not reply when you say hello.
You find the bookstore key under the door mat-- exactly where Irvin said it would be. Creepy...