A strange event floated into my quiet space like an aimless freak and stunned me harder than a shockwave. The idigo lights had come on indicating a great personality or deity was scheduled to visit Davy Jones Locker for some unpur knownpose or is it unknown purpose. Then the light went out, making my eyes fall to the ground then return to its sockets with a little dust that itched them. Such a one-in-a-billion chance event had to be a cancellation or an error. I was worried.
Hitherto that moment of the lights, I was there alone in the gigantic cavern brainstorming the fate of Davy Jones Locker if Nigeria breaks up. “Against Tribalism,” I said aloud. Will the 4-7 Creed be scraped or revised or undergo its own Tower of Babel? What concerns a map-maker with chromium content of stainless steel? I was shivering a little despite wearing thick woolly socks, a trouser over tracksuit bottoms, two jumpers, a black beret, and a great coat. There were only a few candles burning with still flames and darkness seemed ready to pounce on me. Not a place for the gregarious.
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