"Let’s face it," said Chuck. "The only reason we even speak today is because we’re Drift-compatible. Because we’re good at smashing things together. In fact, we don’t even need to speak.”
He picked up the battered radio and dialed it back to its original volume.
"Catch you in the Drift, Dad," he said, and turned it up a little higher.
Here dwell together still two men of note
Who never lived and so can never die:
How very near they seem, yet how remote
That age before the world went all awry.
But still the game’s afoot for those with ears
Attuned to catch the distant view-halloo:
England is England yet, for all our fears–
Only those things the heart believes are true.
A yellow fog swirls past the window-pane
As night descends upon this fabled street:
A lonely hansom splashes through the rain,
The ghostly gas lamps fail at twenty feet.
Here, though the world explode, these two survive,
And it is always eighteen ninety-five.
– Vincent Starrett