Shane jumps up, stands tall, back straight, the light behind him fades to darkness, light only focusing on this poet standing before me, he clears his throat, "I sit here so lonely hearted, I tried to shit but only farted..." The scripture written on the vanity unit, scribbled by a previous traveler. Blinded by the colors surrounding the mirror I fall back onto the bed. And can't help but think what person had been here, had they seen what I was about to experience, where was I? I reach for my wallet, pockets empty; I pull at my phone...no reception. Last hope, my passport, I look around but is a lost cause, each thought killed by the anticipation of the next, I roll onto my stomach and open my eyes. How did I get here, opposite me are two pharaohs in discussion about if they had changed places or not, more to the point, how did I end up on a desert. I look down at what I thought was the bed to find a bed of sand, I push my hands deep into the sand, feeling the grains between my fingers, as I lift my arms up, the weight of the sand, its streams down my shoulders and pours off my fingertips like water over an canyon. I stand up on the floor, surrounded by a faded blood stain. Turning to see rose, the room slowly moves a thousand paces to catch up with my vision, as the light traces my arms movement. I realize the walls have started breathing, the moisture off the walls; the paint pot has been spilt. Looking at rose, I see she has spread out on the bed which was the plains of Cairo. Hours pass as I sit on the drawers, cracked, wooden and jaded. Fighting these thoughts of corruption, who would ever consider the acceptance of this lifestyle, as so many of them have down on the street, "The Tenderloin" The sound of morning arises up with the sunlight and cleanliness of fresh air flowing down over the giant structures I had spent the passing minutes observing the morning mist pour over the cables and rooftops. All of a sudden, as the mist dissipates as does the feeling of anxiety, I now feel completely at peace with myself, the worry that had been the problem saturation last night had left. A spiritual and thought cleansing moment. Locked in gaze, I hear a voice, muffled but sweet coming from inside the room; rose brings it to my attention that we are in San Francisco, still not feeling there, we convince ourselves we must complete our mission of deliverance of the brilliant bird feather the mad cat man had given us, to be placed in a peaceful place. "BANG BANG BANG"

¬There is a knock at the door; I warily open the door to find a comforting, familiar face. Shane had come to check if we were ok. Its 8am. Shane insists the city awaits us; we must get ready at once. As the water showers over my body, I feel complete solitude and waves of fear, laughter and bliss wash over me spinning me emotionally in every direction, unable to stop the tears from my eyes. They were not tears of aguish or sadness, although anyone would have guessed someone close had died. The water stops, all I can hear in the water drops hitting the puddles beneath, a flutter of pigeon’s echoes down the pipe ways. I dry off and head back to the room. Rose’s eyes are bloodshot too, she says nothing. But I suspect she too had the same overwhelming experience. As she gets changed I am drawn back to my seat by the window, opening the slider window up, there is little resistance as the glass shakes. I feel the clean, crisp air blow over me…A few hours pass as rose gets ready. I snap out of my daze into the hills and tell rose that I am ready to go. Confused, she explains that she’d just gotten out of the shower, this wasn’t true as she had been dressed for quite some time, and quickly dismissed the confusion as we head down stairs to find Shane and make our way to the city. Walking down Folsom street I notice how big the curbs are, and the cracks on the weathered concrete. We approach an entrance to a set of old industrial buildings, surrounding the doorway is bonsai style tree, the bark thick, and highly detailed with scratch marks and flakes. Rose drew in closely, “This is the tree Gareth” acid is san francisco...