There’s a sign hanging up on the side of the fence, although I’m not sure it really merits the word ‘sign’. It looks more like a pasted preschool collage — letters snatched from holo displays and antique marquees mashed together like Mark’s Thursday-night casserole.
I check the screen on my wrist, pulling up the infofeed and matching it to the words on the sign.
First Fragmented Church of Entropy
Speaking of Mark, where the heck is he? He’s the one who dragged me here, after all…