the smuggler’s bible

Bongoflow Daafoumdex

Bongoflow Daafoumdex initiates the autopilot and clambers onto the hull with the mirror and a folding chair. It’s a clear night, very few dust clouds. Bongoflow clamps the chair down in the lee of a dorsal fin, away from the fusion drives (that shit turns you green), and opens the mirror. (It’s bigger than you’re imagining. Nope, close, but even bigger—you gotta reflect A LOT of starlight to get a decent tan.)

He sighs (this is, of course, a simplification—the words ‘he’ and ‘sighs’ are communicating imprecise ideas. I mean, c’mon, it’s space), and begins finally to relax.