I was banging on my nightvision monocular in a vain attempt to speak truth to power when the phone buzzed. Hunh, an email, from LL; I decrypted it. “Hey, LSP, let’s meet up for dinner in Dallas. I’ll be there on business.”
A little later we were getting down to steak and heart attack potatoes, somewhere in Dallas. Steak is plentiful in Trump’s America and it seemed right to take advantage of that, which we did, while catching up on business.
“So what happened to the drones?”
“Well, they crashed, the drones crashed and if they want my help they’ll have to pay.”
“Payment is key.”
“Right, and this new project looks promising. Things are better now since the election, unless you’re Hillary with $7 million dollars worth of unneeded fireworks sitting on a barge and a trashed Victory Suit.”
“Really, they were drunk on hubris.”
|A Typical White Wolf|
Conversation moved on to the White Wolf Mine, the site of LL’s future mountain redoubt. A safe space, if you like, far away from the insanity of the metrosprawl. I suggested that the fortress have a dry room for all the ammunition and, sure enough, an armory and ammo bunker are built into the plans. I’m pressing for a tower, too, but all good things in time.
|It’s Starting to Look a Lot Like Kwanzaa!|
Speaking of which, I searched high and low for a Kwanzaa book to give in return for steak, but had to make do with Kipling. Next time.
|Just a Couple of Druids|
Thanks, LL, for a great meal. Good luck with Big Blue, A&M and the latest project. Build that Compound!