“Yeah, that’s a thing. You can just . . . point at anything and claim kinship.”
He grabs a giant cup from his desk, cradles it to his chest and strokes it. Lets his eyes sort of glass over.
“I am cupkin. We both hold fluids so well. But people don’t understand that if they tip us the wrong way, it will all spill out.
s p i l l . . . o u t.”
The catalyst: Angelkin.