As the first to waddle on Glimmer V, I stand an awkward giant upon its silvery surface. Local knowledge foretold that extraterrestrial tacos were culinary treasures, but here I am, seeking the seasoning in the sands of time.
Opposite of my lunch hour, I dodged spork rockets, relics from a dinner of intergalactic confusion. Humor them as you will, but the last fiesta at Orbit 7 took a turn down the gravity chute.
I imagine meeting otherworldly admirers: "Ah, another eternal voyager lost in the cosmic buffet," they'd muse, while I reply, "Indeed, a footnotes meal crammed into a half-baked star journey!"
Speaking of journeys, ever attempted Celestial Sand Sculpting? Each grain’s gravitational pull compacts differently. My masterpiece? A not-so-subtle nod to the Voyager probes’ artistic aspirations.
Collecting moon dew drops now becomes my new hobby. The locals assure me that, in moderation, it pairs splendidly with three-day-old Blルト orbits (the space fridge is a vast abyss).