Thomas Kinkade Seaside Village

Thomas Kinkade Seaside VillageThomas Kinkade Bridge of HopeEdward Hopper Summertime
careful what you wish for. You never know who will be listening.
Or what, for that matter.
Because, It had continually puzzled Death in his more introspective moments, and this was one of them, why his servant always walked the same path across the floor.
I MEAN, he thought, CONSIDER THE SIZE OF THE ROOM . . .
. . . which went on to infinity, or as near infinity as makes no difference. In fact it was about a mile. That's big for a room, whereas infinity you can hardly see.
Death had got rather flustered when he'd created the house. Time and space were things to be manipulated, not obeyed. The internal dimensions had been a little too generous. He'd forgotten to perhaps, something could be drifting through the universes, and a few words by the wrong person at the right moment may just cause it to veer in its course . . .Far away in the bustling metropolis of Ankh‑Morpork there was a brief crawling of sparks across an other­wise bare wall and then . . .. . . there was a shop. An old musical instrument shop. No‑one remarked on its arrival. As soon as it appeared, it had always been there.Death sat staring at nothing, chinbone resting on his hands. Albert approached very carefully.