It was awfully quite in the ghost town for a while. Each being to himself. The monetary beings were busy waiting for the signal that the BooM is coming, the scruffy ones were following behind-the-scenes scenes, and The Drizzles?
He had a nice time. Apparently no one noticed his absence. He was swinging his buckets like a goat with a go-cart, exploring waste-emotions that drained to him from all parts of our real world, which arrived at his buckets via the mysterious "gun-without-liquid-emotion-of-space" system.
But the his personal misery, which he liked much less then other people's misery, Bee-Straw came back.
"The nigger is about to change his skin, The Drizzles" he said seriously "We need you".
"You? Need? Me?" squeaked The Drizzles, and hid behind his buckets.
He had a nice time. Apparently no one noticed his absence. He was swinging his buckets like a goat with a go-cart, exploring waste-emotions that drained to him from all parts of our real world, which arrived at his buckets via the mysterious "gun-without-liquid-emotion-of-space" system.
But the his personal misery, which he liked much less then other people's misery, Bee-Straw came back.
"The nigger is about to change his skin, The Drizzles" he said seriously "We need you".
"You? Need? Me?" squeaked The Drizzles, and hid behind his buckets.
