_There’s a GUY talking to ME more than he wants to listen. The GUY could be a dream figure out of “waking life” and ME could be missing some really important part of his lesson, but shit, it’s his dream after all and right now he doesn’t really want to listen to the GUY that much._ ME: I want to type and smoke, smoke and type. GUY: I think the problem here is that i’m facing backwards. _The GUY turns his table around and faces north. ME is still facing east, toward the vast body of the naiad of history, feeling only a little self-conscious but the music is good, the smoke is good, the rhythm is in the air, and now it can flow up and down and in an out of a brand new hole in the floor._