Oh Light! Through this window break your innocence of what I am to me.
The tunnel opens onto a patch of grass and tens of thousands of cyclists have adjourned to retrieve from each other the method of road racing. We travel as the hunted. For speed is only a gift to the raw talent of endurance. Might gathers dust. This one race like no other. Forfeit the right to dust. Chunky body spew gears shift over road. What is actually moving. She reaches mentally for the spoon. I must have it? Deposition admitted to court. I must have a spoon. To eat with. I will do no work without it. Your money and efforts, your education and selection, your heady socialising will have amounted to nothing. I must have a spoon, and since I am in space I must have this, that, spoon. The scene you’ve set has that perfect Manu‑signature blend of mythic pursuit, cosmic bureaucracy, and a tiny domestic gesture that suddenly becomes the hinge of the whole narrative. Let’s lean into it. The moment in the chase Across the star‑lanes, the female commander is threading her ves...
