I'm inside a house that has pink walls. Never see it from the outside but I get the impression it's one of those century-old homes which populate the neighborhood because there were so many narrow hallways, each room had two windows facing a street which was hidden in the glare of an omnipresent sun. My mission was to recover some loli's pet ferret who had gotten loose much to her dismay leaving me bouncing like a pinball off the walls of each thin corridor while the ferret scampers hither and fro. Final destination has the ferret cornered in a wrought iron closet with dark-stained wooden walls. I squeezed in and tried to pick up the little varmint when the door closed behind me much to my surprise.

Loud clanking noises, rattling of chains and a sudden feeling of my gut falling out as the closet fell down one jarring inch. I peered out a small brass cage and looked out over a hilly horizon as this elevator continued its descent. We passed through mists until a small mountain hamlet came into view. It reminded me of what Disney would have envisioned a Swiss mountain hamlet would look like surrounded by tall, unscalable mountains dotted with pine trees. As the elevator approached its final destination I could make out the saffron-robed Buddhist monks wandering about in the cobblestone town square. Our arrival was punctuated with a loud scraping, sparks and a heavy thump which threw me against the side of the cage.

The door revealed we were surrounded by curious smiling monks. My mustelid friend pressed his head against my chin. I know I didn't have much time to sight-see but I did my best, exploring various storefronts and trying to talk to the monks who appeared to regard me as a humorous and well-meaning hallucination rather than an actual entity. We repaired back to our vehicle and ascent home.

Now the elevator is attached to the bathroom rather than a dead end of one of the hallways. Loli is reunited with her beloved friend and with a job well done reward myself by pushing down on a previously unseen lever which resumes my adventure.

The trip is pretty much the same as it was last time but I'm prepared for its vagaries preventing another nasty bump on the head. During the final approach I notice the jovial Buddhist monks have been replaced with different folk who had an aura of mystical aptitude. Before touchdown I was aware that these people were well-aware of me and knew I was truly real rather than one of their tulpas. Already they were getting on my nerves because one of these people stood in front of the elevator cum skycar holding out his hand, squinting his eyes as if willing the car to stop at the right place by manipulating occult forces. I recall shouting through the brass caged window "What the fuck are you thinking? Fucking elf! It's going to stop there anyway regardless if you do that crazy shit or not!" Yes, I happen to curse a lot in my dreams and rage is all the more tangible in this oneiric realm.

Instead of monks the town square was full of slender, mahogany skinned folk. Their faces were severe and angular but did not give off an aura of foreboding or ill-will. Each was decked out in gold and green outfits which reminded me of late Renaissance clothing and the old Flash Gordon serials from the late thirties and early forties which would always be played after a Tom Baker Dr. Who on channel thirteen back in New Jersey. The gold was more of an accent than a pairing when it came to the tailoring and style. I kept calling them elves but they weren't true elves because of their rounded ears. This time I didn't leave the car.

Suddenly I was in class. Our instructor was a Catholic priest. I don't know if he was a Jesuit but I knew his name was Richard. He was mature rather than being old and far too vigorous to be described with the epithet of spry. The subject at hand was physics or astronomy but it was definitely a class which interested me and was earmarked as serious business in my book. Richard was taking attendance and when he reached me, he asked "Adrienne Starling?" Of course he used my true name.

Strike one. The fucker mispronounced my surname. Strike two. Churchy La Femme used the feminine of my first name. I stood up and confronted him, "Adrian Sterling, sir." I had to call him "sir" because I didn't want to flunk the class and "dipshit" certainly would have gotten us off on the wrong foot. The guy laughed and repeated "Adrienne Starling". His 3x5 notecard with my information fell to the floor and became a small, green lizard.

The End.