I was falling, but slowly, and mostly forward instead of down, along a seemingly endless procession of garages, attics, and corridors. Dusty junk abounded. Old scrap lumber, doors, dilapidated furniture.... It was dark, but I could see fairly well. I was alone. I was not in a panic, but I was definitely beginning to wonder why I did not stop, why I could not, it seemed, stop. The feeling was a little uncomfortable, rather melancholy. There was a sinister presence of some sort--inaudible voices hovering in the shadows. Some debris from some of the obstacles I had careened slowly thru was clinging to me, restricting my movement. Finally I came to a rather thin-looking panelled wall, and on a whim, as my momentum did not seem to be slowing anyway, I bashed it with my forehead. I broke right through. Some of the debris still clung to me. At first I thought I was just in more of the same stuff I had been in before, but looking around, I saw I was outdoors, above a street with sidewalks, lawns, houses, and an occasional streetlight. Instead of falling, now I was flying. I can fly, I said to myself. I saw some bits of wood twirling slowly through the air away from me, ahead of me, and I realized it was the debris that had been stuck to me earlier. This is the first day of-- and I thought, what is this the first day of? My existence? No, not exactly. But it is the first day. Happy First-Day, I said into the friendly ear of a man walking on the sidewalk, as I floated past. Happy First-Day. There were a few other people milling around. Happy First-Day to all of you, I said. It was still night-time. I was starting to feel better. The atmosphere was still a bit wistful, but it felt like something was about to wake up, rather than remaining in a torpor indefinitely.