Fictional Pictorial History of Bangor, Maine

Where spirits are available to assist you in climbing that black wrought-iron ladder to the stratosphere.

Tired of being alive, honestly.

Not quite turquoise, not quite cerulean, not quite aquamarine, not quite royal, not quite electric, not quite indigo, not quite twilight, not quite lagoon, not quite river-under-clear-blue-sky, not quite sapphire, not quite toilet bowl cleaning solution, so you can just call me Grover.

Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! Wheeeee! The sky.

Please be continually informed that you never really own anything, and we always, always own everything.

1 cent, 5 cents, 10 cents, 25 cents, half-dollar, $1, $2, $5, $10, $20, $50, $100, blah.

We're identical twin sisters, though we were raised separately because our parents had a nasty falling out and got divorced the day after we were born. We had never even met each other until just last night, 23 years into our lives. Mom and Dad had finally gotten over their long-standing grudge, or at least we thought they had, so they'd made a little reunion dinner for all of us. Without even knowing each other at all, we twin sisters had both jazzed up our hair in the exact same way for the big night. We're blondes, and we'd both added some maroon highlights in the exact same places. Do you like them? Maybe it was something like mental telepathy that let us know. We just sat right next to each other and smiled silently the entire time, not even really touching our food, trying to be cheerful for Mom and Dad, who'd started arguing by the time our plates were ready to be cleared from the dinner table.