You’re standing at a street corner, just waiting for someone, you don’t really know who, no one important. Another is standing there with you, casually standing and looking out into the night as the street lights start to blink on. As you start to focus on the person standing next to you, the world starts to become a little dimmer, a little darker, a little less color in everything. Everything starts to stretch and bend and curve and twist, like little pieces of reality chipping away like old paint on a fire hydrant, all things visible crack until you're left staring at not a person, but an old bleached skeleton, still smoking that same cigarette in the blank blackness of that moment.

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