Blip sorcery. Squelch seduction. Two measures. One measure. The “beat.” The “leads.” The “melody.” Steady creeping. Space nautilus. Demon semaphore. Quicksand villa. Tape seam. Tape dust. Tape spawn. Spew deputy. Pan pots. Manhole midwife. Webster’s Dictionary defines unguent as “n. an oily substa—” oh, god, what’s happening to my legs (?) make it stop (!) — no, no, I realize now to just let it do its thing. I have faith that nothing will go wrong. I creep into the alcove, cover my lower half in sawdust from the bag, and try to just wait it out. I cannot see the moon from where I am laying. “There was a band/ playin’/ in my head,” and it was one man looping Sidrassi tones and alien signals into, like, songs, but maybe closer to episodes.
Unguent crawls out of the Philthdepthsia underground clutching his head and also 100 tapes in a box. I approach him and hold both hands out, palms up, but already have $7 folded into a neat square in one of the palms. This is how to initiate the handshake. Mid-handshake, I whisper all of my pertinent details. Unguent assures me that he will withdraw relics from his Refulgent Sepulchre and convey them to me as soon as, like, soon, but that it can’t be now. He strokes the box. “Not with them looking.” I look around and think there is no one else here.
Some copies of Scanners remain, but I dunno, I bet not many. E-instructions are available to complete the grip.