I had been up all night downtown with my sometime collaborators in wandering mischief. I had had my sheath knife back, the one Jim gave me, the one that got stolen in this world. We came to a place where it was morning, big sunshine almost too bold. A great flood was coming. It came, it washed through the streets. People were toppled. Chaos reigned. Some people danced. A kid off a balcony, presumably to his death. Another kid jumped. I found a green island amidst all this, tall ballustraded buildings before me, the great shining lake behind me. A few other people sat here. We were not harmed by the muddy deluge. Megan sat behind me, but this time she was in her slightly older guise, not the pearlescent ghostly waif but the young woman, still pale but opaque now, with long, full red hair and generous, red lips. She still had a mysterious smile, but now it was mischievous as well. She said (as a close-up of a golden-fuzzy-haired vagina came before me and went) why dont you just admit you love her? And I said, but does she love me back? There was something else, but-- She said something about how she had gone bad, or was used up or something along those lines, but that I, on the other hand....