But it IS Disneyland, said Young Gabriel.
The Old still search for authenticity. Something free of the Hollywood glamour. Something recognizably permanent in time and space. Something growing straight and true. Unseen by the priests who tend the Money God's garden.
They never find it, of course. They grumble and they die. It's gone. They are gone. Remember We are the Inheritors. You are the Last Man, Winston.
Perhaps my autism-inflected Ken Dodd marathons are right on the money. I'm a Modern City man afterall.
He smiled. He loved the Money God.
They never find it, of course. They grumble and they die. It's gone. They are gone. Remember We are the Inheritors. You are the Last Man, Winston.
Perhaps my autism-inflected Ken Dodd marathons are right on the money. I'm a Modern City man afterall.
He smiled. He loved the Money God.
