Got a little less tangle in the cat's cradle, at last. Everything looking Gordian. A coin toss. The Bones of Jade, the Throne of Amber, the Peacock Stole, the Big Lie, the Noble Lie, the Pillar of Onionskin & Garlicflowers, the Egg of Obsidian. A taxi cab that won't tell you where it is headed, a barber who won't shut up about the bloody history of the Peppermint Pole. Now I've got a bit of a shiver on. The taxi driver says he just wants to drive until the streets fill up with blood. He says he never hears any music on the radio, even when people are dancing to it, singing along. All hear hears is static. This is my kind of taxi. This cab is really going somewhere. You can relax. Check your veins. The barber talks about the kind of stuff they left out of the Key of Solomon. He talks about politics & he means presidents & dukes. Circles & sigils, crocodile jaws on feathered bodies, women's hands. About the Robot Masters. He values things wrong, he is talking about the feather of ma'at, the feather of du'at which everybody forgets about but him & me. He has scissors at my eyes. Bruised hands.