Crashing in the Fog.

And the mau carries me forth, through fog and misty rivers, the afterglow just keeps pulling me along. There's no talking to these unworldly things, they have neither faces nor names and they guide you without the voices and the screams. They brake your sporit and bleed you dry, so I take careful steps as the nights closes in.

My feet are ancient blocks of concrete made by a thousand slaves. The ground beneath me trambles, as I walk the crazy streets of Subi. People are shouting without reason, fighting for the fun of it and taking massive amounts of their favorite drugs. When the sun goes down behind the western hills, the streets turn into something different, something dangerous, something like me.