There's a point at which you get so dusty, no amount of bathing can get rid of it.

It gets caked on, gets in your eyes, your ears, your teeth.

Little grains hang onto your scalp even after you shampoo two or three times.

That's how dusty I am right now.

That's how dusty I got before I finally found Lexi.

It didn't go the way I hoped.

This is Spines.

... You know, I guess I'd be doing this as a personal

ad in the paper.

Misconnection.

In the candlelit attic surrounded by eight people, I think think might have been our friends once upon a time.

I was the blood-drenched brunette. You were the cute guy with black fingernails and a coyote skull in one hand.

I think we had a moment, but I lost track of you after the fire started, and I stabbed the skull man with his own obsidian dagger.

Let's meet for coffee, and maybe we can help each other remember our names.

But no one reads newspapers anymore.

And these messages aren't just for you, mystery guy.

They are for you.

But they're also for our friends, and anyone who knew me before,

and anyone who might recognize the things I'm talking

about, it's already paying off. After that first message, I got a lot of email. Like, a lot,

a lot. And most of it, granted, was crackpot bullshit. Like, hey, you and I were abducted by the same aliens, or stuff about me being possessed by the devil.

Stuff like that. But there were a couple of good, solid leads. I can't talk about some of them, not yet.

...