I’m still feverish from a bug I caught on my way back from Europe, although I no longer attribute my dream-a-thons solely to my temperature. (Funny but I don’t remember any over there, which suggests it’s more to do with how much activity I see during the day.) If I’m not hobnobbing with celebrities or exercising superpowers, there are secret worlds to be discovered, this morning when I noticed that my unattended bicycle was being stripped between each inspection. No one was around, but nearby was a hole in the dirt, no deeper than a burial plot, through which we could see couples in 50’s-era clothes dancing. Peering even longer, and a whole Eighties video production was going on in this subterranean complex. The point of view shifted to the ground floor and I looked up and saw my large head spying below at this hidden kingdom of lost cultures.
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