high-rises, was the Sphere . And I knew it would deliver a proper mindfucking if we accidentally ran into it. e ideal destination, Ford had convinced us, was the closest steak place, “O the Strip,” but we couldn’t tell where it was, not even with a map open on the phone. It was in the immedi- ate vicinity. Here? Some other Linq Promenade? Lord knows any of these restaurants would do. Yet, we had to get to O e Strip. Something about… a steak bites appetizer. Deep down, we also knew that the only way to balance out this thundervision and lack of motor skills was to eat something – anything – but the metocin had ravaged our appetites. No amount of ram- pant cheeng on live resin could produce the munchies to counter. “Maybe we can just go for some apps and beers and force it down,” Ford said. “We have to, we've made it this far.” Determined, we headed back towards the Strip. e path was even more neon – gro- tesque, manufactured. Like strolling the front- age road to Disney’s Main Street, a fabrication. e world contorted further, Christmas tree fuzzing like a disintegrating sponge… those shrieks getting louder and louder - until fuck, they’re right overhead, what IS that? All those intermittent high powered screams barreling down the corridor, again and again? Spinning around, not sure where I am ... Trying to put two and two together… think — some phrase, some word had appeared over and over… yes.
It wasn’t long aer this story that he tried on his shirt for the party, only to nd it’d been ve years, and around ve extra pounds, since he’d worn it last. Subway Time Capsule… A Guided Tour of Volcano Mayhem W e overcame gravity to emerge from our den of refuse. Yes, we would eat steak. Yes, we would make it to the Emjays. But when we nally got to the Promenade, our hunger seemed to fade. It was a gut punch. e whirling street fair was already unsettling, all the bells and whistles and sour chime of a possessed carousel. What were these hyper-illuminated stores? What were they sell- ing? Virgil’s? Museum of Sel es? We lumbered on, overcome by the strobes. e place was done up for the holidays, even more twinkling and tinsel than usual. Ford's “plan B” was In & Out - but none of us wanted to face the wait line. It was the only place that appeared to host any crowd in this miserable square. Surely we’d cause a scene. We were stumblebums, the village drunks. Faces averted their gaze. Ignore the freaks mesmerized by the holographic pool and giant emerald tree of baubles …. At the end, the ever-seeing white wheel rose overhead, that supergalactic eye in the sky. It mocked us now, but it didn’t scare me. Out there, rather, somewhere in the sea of
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