Leave the mezzanine.
A liner to the right. 70,000.
Beside it, a private cruiser. 10.
Check pockets. It's one hell of a hike
when you forget your wallet and identification fob.
To the private cruiser's right
a canoe. 35. Afternoon shoppers.
To the far left a bus. 50.
Nearer, a coupe with tank mounts. 4.
Put the helmet on, intakes open,
keyless start, 99 paces to go.
Between them, a familiar face.
Tacked on hull plates and antennae and dish all over the place.
A sticky hatch, heavy fusion engine,
atmospheric adapters and
meters white on black.
White and blue die hang on the head up display,
and a domesticated cat is the first mate.
A pare of barrels and automatic turret
Intakes off and fit belt. Pressure cab,
engine sequence go.
Bag of leftover tater tots and chicken wings secured.
Don't worry, "stand clear" is something passerby know,
because the first twenty gasping fume belches
from the exhaust are not seen
they're felt bone bass line.
Leave the Mezzanine, leave the locks, leave the port.
Cheshire 3367 requesting clearance.
Granted.
Interstellar unregistered warp capable chop rod. 1.
