Step past the door. The room enter is not a room, but the dense forest outside. The sounds of typewriters is no longer around you, only a distant memory, floating in the dark air of a moonless night. Wh at you hear no w are crickets. Water. Leaves. Owls. All night sounds have to offer are dreams, but you already knew this. The night creeps into your faint coat, and a whimper escapes, but not from you. Your shadow, it's his whimper. A cough. A sneeze. Th e owl tells you he's trying to sleep, but you're already asleep, so you don't understand the question. Why? The answer is tattooed on a tree, so which one? Where? He comes alone, unlike you. He is pure white. He is white with the evil of growing coffee stains. The sounds of harsh winds have never waken you before, why should they start now?/? There is a beggar below him, never asking for cheap change. He only asks the you follow the river. He points to a tree. On the tree is the word 'XXXXXX' and an arrow pointing to a direction you never learned in school. The tells you with a toothy grin to follow him through the yers and the iourtants. They all laugh at your face.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.......