He passed the Temple of Rust, a magnificent arch formed by an old tin can. He navigated the Perilous Currents of the 5-Way Split, dodging a flotilla of dead matches. Each junction he passed, the number inside him ticked down. 9. 8. 7.
He didn't need a pipe.
He landed in a pool of stagnant tea, shared a brief, silent greeting with a piece of floating parsley, and continued. flushed away 1 10
He looked at the hundred dark tunnels. Then he looked up, at the faint, watery light from the manhole cover.
"No," he said, and his voice was a high, clear chime. He jumped . He launched himself over the oil's slick back, a perfect parabola of distilled courage. He landed on the other side with a splash and didn't look back. He passed the Temple of Rust, a magnificent
He began to move, a steady, determined roll along a slick of bio-film. His first challenge: The Grease-Falls.
Finally. The 10th Junction.
He hit the grease and didn't slip. He stuck . Panic welled. He was a drop of water on a hydrophobic surface. He was immobile.
It was a 1-in-10 chance any pipe led to the sun. But the wall led straight up. It was a thousand times his height. It was impossible. He was a single drop of water. He didn't need a pipe