#93. The Orange Room

[This one is probably an email, cut out and pasted in the book]
Hey Sand-Man, I bring greetz from the spheres.
Eddie and Matt said you were working on a little guidebook. Smart move. They’ve been catching a lot of kiddies in their webs lately, and we need all the help we’ve got. I’d like, if I could, to contribute. You ever hear of the orange room? Me neither. At least not until last weekend. I met a guy at Back Lot. Kinda chubby, geeky technogoth. Y’know my type, I like to fuck practitioners. Anyways, HE says we should go back to his place. So I say “Ok”, playing it like I’m some rube, nevermind that I’ve practically moved into Dream and that anyone who knows anything knows it.
So we drive to Dalhousie station and get onboard. When we hit the free fare zone, he begins to count to a hundred, and when he gets to a hundred, he presses the help button and holds it until we leave the free fare zone. The train keeps going, and it keeps going after it reaches the last station, and it stops in this underground station that’s all orange and British. He leads me upstairs, all giddy like he’s showing me the kind of thing I’ve never seen before. Which isn’t true. But I pretend for his sake.
Anyways, The orange room is like this old place, Victorian I think. Everyone has an accent and talks about how “The War” is going, which I THINK is world war one. Anyways, the only guy in the room who knows what year it is is this little old man who recognizes me and runs my ass out.
Dunno how useful it is, but I wouldn’t recommend going back. Place STUNK of allspice. I bet that little faggot was a trap…
Keep safe, Sand-Man,
Nick Maharis.


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