I have green apples in my canvas bag, and since I am preparing for my post-apocalyptic journey into Reality, I also have hand sanitizer and anti-serpentine spray although it's unclear as to whether it repels snakes or repairs windy shapes. The landscape is barren, a desert, and there is a homeless man scatting, his spit furious and suspended, and a headless tuxedo is walking toward me, and a frothy skeletally malformed dog-sized elephant struggles against the stone egg that looms over us all like a corpulent mother over her misbehaving toddler. Maybe I should spray the crooked creature, I think, maybe I can heal his scoliosis or at least protect it from the St. Exuperyian boa that must be lurking around here somewhere. I find a dry bowl of Cheerios in my bag and I throw some in my mouth. They are stale. I eat them anyway. I never apologize.