Enthustan - Better

Every week, another block of Vellichor would fade to gray. The fireweed would wilt. A citizen would wake up, look at their singing pigeons or their Jupiter-soled shoes, and sigh. They had caught the virus of Pragmatism.

I am writing this now from the other side, in a nation of schedules and budgets. But late at night, if I close my eyes, I can still hear the faint, four-part harmony of Elara’s pigeons. enthustan

He laughed, a sound like a rusty trombone. “Poorly,” he admitted. “We trade in ‘Almosts.’ I’ll give you three ‘Almosts’ for that novel you’ll never finish. You give me two ‘Almosts’ for this kazoo I carved from a carrot.” Every week, another block of Vellichor would fade to gray