Whoops. I almost failed to make a Friday post. I got so caught up in the Novel that I lost all track of time.
Yesterday, I had lunch with Tom Purdom, because I wanted to pump his brain for information on how 19th-century artillery was organized. We went to Irish Bards and stayed after for several hours, talking about writing. As Tom observed afterward, it's always pleasant to talk about writing instead of actually doing it.
Pictured above: A message I found in the streets of Philadelphia, on my way to see Tom. That is not a sticker or hand-cut linoleum like the Toynbee/2001 messages you still see occasionally, here in the Sprawl. It's a rectangle of solid metal with the letters cut out, which was then sealed into the road using tar and macadam. A strange thing to do by somebody with a lot of fabricating skills.
But we'll never know that particular story.