Things had changed. Things always change, but this is something I wasn’t expecting.

Over the last several months I had read and re read ancestors pages concerning the way of life this side of the pond, nothing seems as described.  It looks like I really will be starting a fresh.

Some things however seem static, seconds off the boat I have been offered customary cigars from characters ‘stepping out of the shadows’, people with names that my journals have no reference to dressed as alien robots.

A few hours spent in bars and looking through the local papers tell me some powers that once were still are and that at the least piques my interest.  Things change but that change is like a wheel turning on its axis.  Round and round, occasionally a spoke breaks and is driven into the dirt, more often than not that spoke is re-forged.  Very occasionally that same spoke is found years down the line and forms the foundation of a new wheel entirely.

We all start from the dirt and so from the dirt I have no choice to rise.

The heavy Chicago rain scores a direct hit on the end of my cheap cigar and puts an end to its existence, flicking it in the direction of a hapless bum I take a nip of the last of my Balvenie and settle down to business.  First stop being an old statue that my journal mentions.  I wonder what remains of it?  It seems not long after an ancestors generation planned to desecrate it a handbook was published and from there they disappear into the ether…