The Dorian Strand

She was smarter than me, and I found that a little annoying. I was rowing the rowboat, or "more accurately" the skiff, through the choppy waters of the Dorian Strand. She was sitting in the stern, navigating, head bent over a map and compass, checking the landmarks on the shoreline. Occasionally she would tap my knee if I needed to adjust course. Left or right knee; a single tap if I was a little off, or multiple if I was very off. We had no rudder, 

She hadn't told me where we were going, probably because she never tells me where we're going. 

I suppose I'm okay with it. If we were doing something illegal, I'd have the benefit of plausible deniability. 

Although last time, we were attacked by a gratuitously large "chambered nautilus." I had called it "one of those things that look like an octopus hiding inside a seashell." It had latched on to the rowboat with its tentacles and was using its spiny tongue, or "radula," to bore through the bottom. 

That time she had uncorked one of her many vials she wore in a bandolier over her dress and dumped it onto the writhing mass of tentacles, which then immediately turned itself inside-out. I think that's what it did anyway. Hard to tell with a creature like that but I'm pretty suremost of it is supposed to be inside the shell. 

I had just kept rowing the whole time. She usually handled stuff like that. Whenever we encountered something that just needed to be hit with an oar, she usually left that to me. Probably doesn't want to waste her ingredients.

Refuge

It's just a title. I've been thinking of the home I've built. Or haven't built, I suppose. I always planned to pay off the house first and then save up for larger projects, upgrades, and the like. There's a few things I suppose I can tinker with. 

But I don't know. Perhaps I should be happy with what I have. Or accept that what I have is good enough. Maybe confront the fact that there's really no end to the process, no ultimate satisfaction to be gained, and to focus on that sliver of the Venn diagram that contains the things that I enjoy doing and may also benefit life in the long run. 

I am suspicious of comfort, but I do so enjoy being cozy. 

There's very few cozy adventures. 

Okay maybe I can think of one cozy adventure I've had but still.

Bearing discomfort is easier when remembering comfort is never forever either. 

Now it's time to rest in my cozy bed and dream of imagined discomforts. That is, adventure. 

Mileage

The great machines that power the city are failing. The massive gears, with teeth the size of a man, are ground down and warping. Coolant, turned acidic and corrosive from countless cycles of heating and cooling, eats away at the seals and hoses. The oil has become sludge, filled with particulate metals that have flaked off during a million hours of internal combustions. As it circulates, it scours and dulls the precisely engineered parts more and more until nothing fits anything. 

I am an expert at my job, helping this engine run another day. Ultimately, it may not matter, because it will fail. I keep my eyes and ears open for solutions, but it is very dark down here. 

I'll keep working, because it is what I know how to do. And perhaps someone else is working too, and they'll come up with a way to fix everything, and my work is buying them time. 

Maybe. 

More Neo Noir Thoughts

It's warm enough during the day to go swimming, but the nights are still cool. The tempo of the evening is pleasant; relaxed, like jazz drumming. I think. I don't know too much about jazz. 

There is probably more than what I'm seeing and hearing. I'm pretty observant, but nobody gets everything. 

The memory of the heat drags on me. Memories have weight, I believe. They can pile on and on, and crush you, if you don't keep moving. 

Am I not moving? 

Night Music

It's like we knew we didn't have time to be strangers. We became best friends so quickly I don't remember noticing. Now you're gone, and I'm sitting in a dark room listening to neo noir jazz songs picked out by a computer in my pocket.

I remain positive. There's a fair portion of my body that doesn't hurt, for example, and I focus on that.The cuts, burns, and broken bones I obtained while fighting by your side have healed pretty well, considering. Not perfectly, so I've had to adapt. 

The web of scar tissue has reduced some of my mobility. Still, I was always the slow one. You were quick, darting in and out, blades flashing. 

I'd slug it out with the heavily armored ones, knocking off armor to expose a vulnerable area, or just keep them busy until you figured out some other way to defeat them. 

You were the brains and the brawn, now that I think about it. And I was just...your friend, I guess. 

I lie down and try to sleep. I focus on the parts of me that don't hurt. It works, and I drift off. Perhaps there will be a good fight tomorrow. If someone needs help, I will be ready. And if nobody needs help, I'll still be ready. No need to overthink it.