Owenham– This sleepy town was once thought of as an aloof sailor sipping port, watching the world exhaust itself from a shaded front stoop. Recently, however, the laissez has abandoned the faire grounds. Forced into servitude by the emergence of newborns, the resilient peace has been skewered by piercing howls and smothered by clouds of baby powder. No longer can the Zulu nation run free. Not with the little Zulitos pecking around. Shalineux–The gritty, pockmarked landscape of Shalineux has rough beauty at best. Settled by “wanderers and wolves”, as the stories state, this place has both dreamy skies and cavernous dens of iniquity within its borders. Wanderers are welcome here, as more are found than lost. Waverers, however, are trucked out of town and burned up like yesterday’s biodiesel. St. Martin – The Isle of St. Martin is a beautiful place where a sandy jetty in the shape of sharply shaved sideburn juts elegantly out to sea. The water in the old country is not warm, but the locals still “blue their parrots” in the icy shallows throughout the year. It is a land where everyone has a radio spot and every toilet seat has a sheepskin cover. From this blissfully bracing Eden comes many a cotton clad, lanky lad with winning pedigree and charmed notions. They laugh confidently even while saboteurs light matches between their toes. B*****shire – The centrally-located county is known for its bitter greens and root vegetables. All the rooms in all the houses are glorified root cellars replete with dull grub hoes, sealing storage bins, and bolts of burlap. In the shire, the air is filtered by Britta ice and the locals bury bags of dried peppers in the preservative soil. Plumes pour from half-open double-hung windows and hip shoegazer music billows and swells. Such is a Tuesday in B*****shire. Scottswich Town – Just east of Elk Rock, overlooking the Firth of Shinnecock, sits the former mining outpost of Scottswich Town. Blinded by the headlamps worn by the city’s inhabitants 24-7, visitors have historically mistaken the grimy chins of the menfolk here as full beards. A city development commission has been charged with cleaning up the town’s ore-iffic image, but few inroads have been. For now, the town remains squarely in the shadow of Elk Rock. Villabordos – Resort towns for the jet set ravers dot the coastline of this outlying peninsular territory. Once rumored to be the summer home of both Ernest Hemmingway and David Lee Roth, this peaceful oasis rolls its own and is governed by a self-created temporal system called Torellitime. Under this system, time stands restfully still nearly always, interrupted only by sudden shifts that move faster than a white Italian-made bullets travelling downhill in a vacuum. If you arrive with only a toothbrush, clad in a beach towel, you will be considered properly prepared, yet slightly overdressed. San Lorenzo – The mythical, forgotten mecca of the Mayans, the truth of San Lorenzo has yet to be discovered. A recent dig in the northern Yucutan has uncovered unusually tall human bones believed to be Lorenzen in origin. While real evidence still eludes the scientists, the mythical accounts abound. Among the more notable achievements said to be associated with this civilization is the construction of the planet’s first mechanical bull. Rochlester City- The playground for the rich, every hotel in this exclusive clubtown has moonwater taps and cotton robes hand-stitched by descendants of Scottish poets. They say the sun never sets in Rochlester, with neon shining all night long and rickshaws delivering pallet loads of caviar to jewel-encrusted loading docks. This place is so rich, it has no currency. Transactions are completed with knowing nods and stylized, old-money winks. Need some assistance? Just pull the Bugatti around front. There is little to report from the Isle of Beverlee or Leitch County at this time.