Simple Story– Of Multitudes?

Here is the simple story to be told, having already been told,

A beautiful young woman, Adair, leaves her loving Nebraska family and community to go to NYC. There, she meets a woman named Ghislaine.

I experiment with this modification,

Starting way back, waaay waay back baaack, on the warning traaack, say the dang Vikings of waaay bacckkkk, or St. Brendan of waaay bacckkkk, or Columbus, of waaay bacckkkk, though 1492 is, of all of waaay bacckkkk of waaay bacckkkk of waaay bacckkkk, selected as the “is” date from among of waaay bacckkkkof waaay bacckkkkof waaay bacckkkk.

The Vikings, St. Brendan, and Columbus, have left their happy homes. Their loving homes. To go on an adventure. An action adventure. A journey. A spiritual journey. A reading rainbow. An oxbow lake. The Atlantic– not the popular journal (we’re talking journey now, not journal), but the seething Surtsey, wacky tobaccay, squirrel,

Where, in the New World, meaning New York, errr, New Amsterdam, NYC– decidedly not NAC, Vikings– including the superstar Leif Erickson, or, failing that, Eric the Red, — St. Brendan, leaving Bedlam– Catholic Ireland– or Columbus, ensconced in pasta, but noticing it is odd the way ships disappear on an oceanic horizon–

It would be much better if Adair was there to greet them. Or, Adair and Ghislaine. Please don’t let the Vikings, St. Brendan, or Columbus be greeted by Ghislaine alone.