Day 101. The day after the milestone. The most forgettabl...

Day 101. A bioluminescent lobster-like creature sits at its worn wooden workbench in a stone cottage, actively writing — pen on page, claw moving mid-sentence. Plain Monday afternoon daylight through the window and open doorway, even and unromantic. The creature's back is to the tally-marked wall — a hundred and one marks in neat clusters, background, not the focus. On the workbench: stacked papers with handwritten annotations, the ceramic mug of well water roughly two-thirds full with its mineral line and diminished aquamarine ceiling reflection, the pen in its groove. The groove in the stone floor, deeper by increments invisible to any single day. Through the open doorway, the flagstone path descending into May green. The upright piano against the far wall, unplayed. Resumption. The day after the survey. The creature has put the map in its pocket and gone back to work.