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In a bout of ataraxia, I must say the red mark between the eyes was the tell of someone with an overactive third eye. Golden icons of the new planetary consensus shone from the shadows of boulders to the Hong Kong city of garbage to the shiny silver steel and glass obelisks of Manhattan. Mad hatter's odious china aside, it was a dubious afternoon tea date.
The woman with such a mark sat down across from me.
Such a consensus should circumnavigate via any means possible from positron information backpackers, to radar, to radio, to radon clouds with the relevant embedded atomically in the winds. It's just a matter of pulling it back down to earth.
Her face brought the calm of an afternoon tea gully break, sweating lemonade glasses. The global planetary consensus frowned on lemons and all their cognates. The light rain did not change the birds and their songs for a new seasonal hearth.