Day Eight Hundred Nine #DiaryoftheEndoftheWorld

Stan could not have been more wrong. And we were content not to disabuse him of his mistaken notion. Not that he left us any means to communicate that back to him. Unless, of course, he had some kind of “eyes” on us. In which case he might guess at the reason behind our unconcern.

For what would he make of the fact our staying the night? Or that we took our ease and went on walks around the megapolis seeing the sights and taking the measure of our adversary?

For as in other places we’ve been through, his image was everywhere, wreathed in honor and pomp.

Very sad, really. Such an immense pride shall surely have a great fall.