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We are soaked in sweat here at the NDRI.  Perchance it was the unbelievable number of complicated convergences that were met in the course of parsing ye olde The Clue of the Leaning Chimney.  Never too early in the day for a convergence or six, we always say. Honestly there is something both vaguely exciting and eye rollingly nauseating about a story that can only unfold when people are 1. dropping clue shit left right and centre (jade statues, notes on Hotel letterhead, half ripped newspapers with pertinent advertisements marked boldly) 2. overhearing conversations of strangers in telephone booths and then taking these scraps of information (i.e. there exists somewhere in the United States a leaning chimney) and making bold career decisions hoping that these motes be factual. Come on people!!  What rutabaga truck did you fall off of? The ghost writer of this particular episode in Nancy’s timeless life really went to town on some complicated algorithms of convergence within convergence within convergence.  Where does one end and the other begin?  Seriously.  To wit, we have decided to spend tomorrow walking about our spring-lusted town dropping clues to see if there is anyone out there noticing.