slopes close the door these days, with plague pressing at the city walls and no clear route ahead. A phoney war hiatus, with old friends elbow-bumping in the bars. But people are trying things, the cranes still go up. I make my pitches and send out notes, fledgling steps as I imagine a writing agency, my own Universal Exports of scribes for hire. All the answers and pathways are there to be crafted in the study.
