081413 #worm Back in the butt-warmed comfort of his own booth, Barp studies the paper he has retrieved. It looks like a crude map. There's a square with an "X" inside, marked "You are Here." Barp isn't so sure about the accuracy of that feature, but he wonders what it would be like to zoom in on the "X" and see if any hidden elements revealed themselves. He slides his empty mug right up to the edge of the table, just in case, and trundles once more to the neighboring booth to pick up a pencil. On his way back to his seat, his lumpy troglodytic ass nudges the coffee mug and sends it hurtling to the floor. The mug shatters. Krim screams. The moment is forever frozen in Ltiky's lust-frosted mind as the moment he fell completely in love. The spotlights yank their blazing gaze from center stage, probing blindly for the cause of the commotion. Barp stands still, stunned, staring at the shards. "You are Here," they seem to say, and they really seem to mean it. They spell out the pattern of an unplanned city, an organically evolving metropolis of eternal potential. The fates of citizens, denizens, hangers-on and bums are written in the jagged cuneiform of those ceramic wedges. Barp kneels, knees creaking, and dumbly, reverently, starts to rearrange Npydyuan.