No one can quiet down enlightened eyes! OK, then. I won't make the tooth pick novel. That most needed of works because now I have image, soundtrack and all. And why not? There is no reason to doubt. The character is dying anyway and all that he is, he is so in condition. Not much to tell there. He is what, well, 46? Maybe 56, or thereabouts? He is stocky. Round ended. Good chest, better legs. He knows he's to die. Well. We all know. He lives. Alone yes. He likes GLASS. Because it doesn't eat. He likes chandeliers. Or at least, what makes them. He is first seen on... where was he seen? Some say London, some go as far as Clevedon, but only on mushy days. In any case he has a home. His name is Meta. He is normal. We are all normal to some degree. He lives in a normal dimension too. He gets visits like everyone. Sometimes even from himself. He catalyses in silent silence. He waits. He needs to. He has fingers that shape the air. Repeatedly. He has a [plan]. He has many other plans but he has one that is his favourite. He wishes it, but mostly he wishes it not to have had to happen. It's just. I mean. It's just so like this. He has a few instruments. Mostly he became annoyed that he missed the ice horn concert. He wanted to see that. But it was full. Fully booked that is. He had gone near in any case.
