Questing
By Charles Payseur
Lancelot ran the streets of Chicago, laughter rising up in the air like a standard, proclaiming him to the world. His arms were outstretched, his eyes closed, his long blond hair trailing behind him. Around him people swore, saw him as just another dumb tourist, but he didn’t care. Why would he? He was in Chicago a full day ahead of schedule.
He didn’t need to be. He was so far ahead in points that none of the others had much hope of ever catching up, even if he took a holiday. Instead he pushed further ahead, lost himself in the simple pleasure of the game and of winning the game. What else was there to do with immortality? Jousting was now only done at Renaissance Festivals, and he wouldn’t be caught dead in such places. Why live in the past when the presen
