Thousand: Three Hundred Three

teacup, he craned his neck to see. Hot tea had slopped over into the saucer, but that was all. The garden gnome yawned. Hah ho hum. A zephyr rattled the roses. “I was saying,” the fisher gnome continued, trying to find where he’d left off, “your future you have to look forward to, it’s coming up, and, lucky you, I have right here,” he tapped the tome of futures with a round knuckle, “thumbnail sketches of the ones possible, including your very own own.” Seeing he was about to lose the garden gnome’s attention to an octopus-shaped shortbread cookie, the