ref: b9fbb17c04e4ccfb2021dac818e514351ca8f646
dir: /troff/0608.ms/
.LP \& .ce .sp |4.25i .PP .ps 12 .I The concept of this stable inner core is ancient and tenacious, but it is an illusion. .R .PP .ps 12 \(em attributed .PP .ps 12 .CW ░ Even after he crushed it in his fist the thing still kept working. So he shut it off. Still, it kept playing. .PP .ps 12 Nuts. .PP .ps 12 They had all died. .PP .ps 12 As much as Tom could now remember, he was aware that there was still much more he had forgotten. Whole people, entire eras. The continuity was by now completely muddled. Hardly acknowledged by the creative staff. And he didn't even have an editor. .PP .ps 12 Piro was gone, of that much he was certain. But his memory of the pirate persisted. Tom found that it helped to keep things straight if he pretended to have conversations with his dead brother. He could write down their dialogue, it even continued as he slept. In fact, he found that he couldn't turn it off. .PP .ps 12 Begrudgingly, Tom took dictation of the new stories. He didn't really sleep at night. His coworkers were useless idiots. No speakers produced enough bass. No one was really believing his silver hair, except for the people who would agree reflexively with anything he said, and their opinions didn't count. .PP .ps 12 His back hurt. .PP .ps 12 Shut up.