I jumped over rivers, walked on higher ground as the tide swept the waves towards me, passed puddles of floating leaves, and then stopped. I stood on a wall, next to the pond, with my arms out, and I was flying, floating on every gust. I looked down on the pond, where there were watery fireworks and swirly patterns of lanterny luster moving along with the bushes that were tripping the light. I could see no rats. There were waterfalls flowing from the roofs, although it was too dark to see the colour cycles. There was a discarded flyer that said "vision funk," completely soaked. The puddles became like spinaceous soup, floating with debris. I was hurried along, pushed forwards by the wind, and it became harder to breathe.