Wisp: Top floor, of course. I did get here first, after all. Welcome to my not-humble-at-all abode. I can't seem to figure out how the heck this TV works, so it only really plays one thing.
His TV appears to be playing "The Wobbler". It's still a rerun.
There's this large bookshelf fulla web-comics. Every once in a while, a new one appears and floats into place among the others of its kind on the shelf. Every row is labeled, Graphic Novels. I fail to see why simply owning regular comics is so embarrassing. Bah humbug.
Wisp: Quiet, you.
In alphaseriesbetical order:
Cyanide and Happiness
Dr. Mcninja
Manly Guys Doing Manly Things
AND SO MUCH MORE.
Wisp: The Dustbox grows by the day week. Not by population, no, certainly not. It's not really like a massive organism that learns new things, either. I cannot say how large it is/will be, but things become revealed as time spins around the analog clock on the one nearly-bare wall in my bedroom. Certain things may in some ways have been added or connected, but in other ways clearly have always been there, melding together with everything else perfectly to make…to make what? I have been asked what the point of this website is, and I definitely don't know the answer. Where did this all start? What did I have in mind when I found this intriguing land that is both foreign and as familiar to myself as the contents of an instance of deja vu to a pondering hermit sitting upon his humble throne of rock on the mountain that stands untouched by the growth of humankind and quite likely time itself? Maybe I'll remember that when I reach the final, withered page of this grand and extraordinary tome - known to you as the Dustbox, and to myself, "Home". Elegant, no?
A pair of invisible doors leads out onto a balcony. Well, technically the doors are just glass, but when you think about it, it's not like you can see them. It's like you can't. Because glass is transparent. Y'know what? Never mind. I don't have to explain myself to you.
