I biked thirty cold minutes with the cognac in my pocket to a locked warehouse door. Mason Jennings and Scott Seekins waited for me inside, surrounded by hundreds of birds on display. Included were three of my own. I finally breached the barrier, studied every feather, and left with my small band of chickadees for the western bank. We landed on the corner by the number 400. The slender maiden greeted us and assured me protection under her cloak of shadows. My band flew south and I stayed, offering up my cognac to the maiden, who accepted it gladly. A new band of five soon gathered, and we fed nearby. With several more flasks, we entered the hall, but under the shadowspell we were not detected. Inside was much revelry. Drinking cognac with my comrade, the floodgates of truth soon burst open. Such catastrophes bring as much relief as fright, and the bond with my brother is now fused with the raw love of survivors.

On the stage, Dungen-- a band of northern elves from distant lands-- played their music, which swirled into a spell of hypnosis over the crowded hall. After it lifted, some of my comrades and I gathered around the fire with elders and fellow wanderers, drinking and carousing. With the cognac's fire in my belly, I wished to continue our rambles, but my friends did not. They suddenly flew off and left me and my winged steed to find our way back home through the cold night.

The next day the coals in my belly still smouldered, but I did not feel the least bit ill. I bathed and tidied my nest while waiting for the unrequited ghost of great treasure. At nighttime, with more cognac in pocket, I joined a house full of friends for frantic dancing in the wonderful orange room. All around us, friends pounded music of the most satysfying beauty.

On Sunday morning I conjured a centaur, and in the afternoon I flew alone to my wooded sanctuary, which everywhere rustled with creatures. There, and on my following northward flight, I witnessed many fleeting miracles. Gems of nature. Smells and light. Flying arrows, talking flowers, flaming rockets, thriving river islands. Back in my ancient homeland, I met a large elvish battalion, which rambled systematically through the area on their steeds. With them, I was PBR'd countless times into the clear autumn night.

At work monday morning I felt as if I had been gone for a week.