‘Dynamite!’ flashes in Trevor’s brain, but not the item (because the government revoked his nitroglycerine procurement licence a few weeks ago and he has not the patience for dealing with the underground market) instead the exclamation of something that is good!
Trevor stands surrounded by architecture that he has designed and constructed and finalised and this time it is no sand castle. A real deal castle, with parapets and bulwarks and portcullis, thick and wooden and bolstered by sweat and drive.
The castle walls surround not any sort of living arrangements, Trevor is not a man burdened by the needs of Hypnos.
Solid wall encasing verdant meadow, flowers planted patterned in shades of rainbow, tiny seated platform raised to overlook, with armchair, side table and parasol.
‘Dynamite!’ exclaimed a second time, louder, pride laced upon those syllables. Hands connected to hips, smile plastered across face, eyes impossibly wide and head bobbing, nodding, Trevor turns to his checklist and ticks off stage one.