Local union meeting for the owners of Little Shops That Weren’t There Yesterday, And Are Gone When You Try To Go Back, Local 37.
“Any new business?”
One hand went up. A relatively young hand in a forest of otherwise weird old people.
“Yes?”
“Who, where or when are we local to, exactly?”
Half the union assembled there groaned.
"Local is an artificial concept, but if you want actual co-ordinates…”
The entire meeting room filled with the chorus, “The Virgo Supercluster, Section two five five of the Milky Way, Galactic supercluster seven five two, Mundis Mundis Universe…”
The younger hand went up again. “And… if someone… accidentally wandered into Kasterborous?”
The meeting went downhill from there.
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