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I awoke as I had in the past -- flat out on my back. I hoped this wasn’t going to be a habit. Through my headache I noticed that I was sprawled on a thick rug -- no, it wasn’t a rug, because I was obviously outside. The stuff I laid in was rust-colored grass, veined with blue. It looked to me, in a strange way, more animal than vegetable. In short, it was totally alien and probably hungry. As much as it repelled me, my migraine demanded a prone position. I hoped my suit lived up to it’s hype. If not, I’d soon be plant food. A familiar smell sifted through my protective mask, but I couldn’t put a finger on it at first. It finally came to me that the aroma was faintly reminiscent of the old Port Authority back in New York. It was the essence of soot, perspiration, bus fumes and other things one never thought about. It made me feel faintly homesick. There was a small breeze kicking up. I could actually feel it through my clothing. Crimson and black leaves stirred overhead like people waving their national flag as their, beloved, dictator drove by. Very enthusiastic, if not a bit forced. Strategically placed men with automatic weapons have that effect on a crowd, you know. Sheets of fog, in varying shades that covered the spectrum from white to black, swirled aimlessly around me like a sleepwalker in search of a resting place. You don’t want to know what the black stuff was but sooner or later I’ll get the backbone up to talk about it. The sky held a fuzzy, pink-grey light that fought for attention but was forced to be content with an honorable mention. Everything had a wrong look, yet it was also kind of beautiful, like an oil film floating in water. Though I’ve never been west of Buffalo, the entire scene fit the mental picture I had of Los Angeles on a smoggy day. If you haven’t guessed by now, I’m a New Yorker to the bone. “Dear God, I’ve died and gone to Jersey,” I whispered to myself and slowly sat up. To my left the sun sat on the horizon like a large woolly red beach ball. At times the fog would collect and totally obscure my vision, then suddenly charge off to another part of the world like a cat who decides it has to be in another room , for no apparent reason, yet does it very fast anyway. I remember feeling I was sitting in a background taken out of a Backshi animation. It was all wrong and disturbing, but cool to look at. Judging the temperature was impossible because of my super suit, but I felt rather comfortable, so it didn’t matter. What did matter was the absence of all familiar sound. No birds singing; no cars droning off in the distance, or the friendly growl from a cab driver telling me to do something that was physically impossible.