i am so hungry and the only thing i can think of is a story about a man with dust on the inside of his elbows. the dust has gathered over the years, and it lightly coats his grizzled face, his rumpled suit which shakes off the layers every time he gets up to adjust the reception. he is alone is his world, and doesnt know for how long. the kids that come up to his house to play in the jungle out back very rarely try to see him, because of the malignant aura which emanates from all the windows. is this the fate of all abjurers? do conjurers have it better in life? the kids are happy swinging on the vines and the dust still settles slowly.