A sort of bobble-head movement of J's cardboard cutout face was on a sort of curlicue mediterranean blue stylized dragon, as if a coat of arms lion further stylized and animated.
I was at the base of the stairwell of the Carleton. This phantabeast kept poofing into existence, dissolving when it bit, poofing back and dragging cold burning cuts down my calves as I was led blind up the stairs of the tavern.
It was a creature of another dimension, like a Fudog but once grounded at the height above ground, grounded by flesh and blood I was out of reach but in cold fright that I couldn't speak.
Reflections on publicity
1 week ago