Today’s Word: Bawdy


Horner took the corner and found himself in a river of teeming humanity. He moved with the crowd, fearing to stop, fearing to be pushed over and trampled by gray-suited women wearing winter colors, or bawdy teenagers slickvests and sporting spiked haircuts to better expose their cerebral-shunts and auditory stims. He edged into the lee of an old fashioned stoop, and attempted to look over the heads of the crowd, but it was a fruitless effort. Most of these were Gen-Alphas: pride of the Empyrean Ministry. Their lithe frames were far too tall for a pre-Alpha to look over. Horner looked back the way he came, but didn't see Mance. He was losing time; he was losing Mance. Quickly, he reentered the throng, pushing his tired old legs to keep pace with the young, the strong, the impatient.
Horner blinked, querying the Sphere for a downtown map and the current time. 1353. His self was literally moments away in time and probably only blocks in distance. He'd waited over forty years for this day. He wouldn't let it slip through his fingers again.



To be Continued