All Right What the Fuck Happened to Evening and Quail, Buster
Oh, they're still around. When once larval, always larval--though perhaps in different insectoid, mitochondrial form. Always a-new. Floating around function. Terraces of thought--sometimes geraniums, sometimes sumac. Wait, sumac doesn't grow on windowsills!
I wish I could sell them on a consistency of voice, but I couldn't sell my soul to the devil even if I wanted to, and he wanted it.
Plus they have lives and weren't crazy about minerals to begin with.
Plus they weren't my pets. Just so we're clear.