The Loneliest Runway

Quicksilver,

Chain is away for a few weeks so we can think about what happened, which is no bad thing. He's gone to the UK to meet up with a few recently discharged heroes and pick up some fabric from a beautiful warehouse in Suffolk sells transparent velvet for when you want the hat but have really great hair. I'm glad he's gone cause I get to think about my next move. I've been stooped over this dazzling precipice for so long I can barely hear my centrevoice. I want to reach down and hand the reins to a starving genius, one with the kind of heat I had back in 2001. I'm going travelling.

I have decided I need to turn inward over multiple timezones. I make my first stop at Brazil, then to Bermuda, Bahrain and Britain, to see if we have anything left to fight for. I'll be tan, too. I had my guider, Mantel, look through my itinerary to maybe bless it cause I've a refund due after she incorrectly invoiced me for a late-night chat that dragged on for super ages, when she called me! I told her she'd better level the playing field or she'll be guiding her ass straight back to Persia. So she's blessing my path. She's come back saying I'm engaging in Me-centric Diversia cause I picked all places beginning with B. She reads me like I'm head to toe in slogans.

Taking this shit on the road.

Bx