The Prowler
The universe exists as the aftermath of an explosion … and we are its causata.
He sat across the bar catching glances of her through his sunglasses, nothing registering on his face apart from the rosy gossamer that follows a couple of spots of Basil Hayden. The place was bustling, which allowed him an extra layer of invisibility – you don’t make a public appearance unless you want to draw attention to yourself. Careful. And yet, despite this, everyone seemed to know him, if only peripherally – if you’re into the local scene his face might strike you as familiar, perhaps even his voice. Still, he could hide in plain sight.
And because or despite of this, he continued, we’re all speeding through space to our deaths as a result, with nothing but the voices of screaming gods in
