. . .

Or maybe it wasn’t?

Maybe all he’d ever planned to do here, all he’d ever thought to do here, is what he will do. Maybe he chokes and expires, in space, just to force a certain miracle, at the end of things, down Edmund Gulley’s throat. Maybe he gave up his sugared paradise just for that, and I don’t even know what good it’s done; or if it’s done, or why, then, really;

But if he hadn’t, this story would be too bleak to tell, so, then — well.

For now, a big thank you to Saul.

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