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They are walking through the park, hand in hand. She seems to know where she is going, so he trusts her and follows her lead. She is an easy person to trust, with the pale luminance of the moon lighting her creamy skin but unable to penetrate her straight, dark tresses. Occasionally she looks at him and smiles, shyly, her head slightly inclined, but mostly she just takes in the sights around them.

A bench sits beside their path, abandoned but for a half-crumpled newspaper. The bench is forlorn; the years have not passed lightly, and its green paint is chipped and peeling. But a bench's purpose is to be sat upon, so they sit on it. This seems somehow the right thing to do. He picks up the newspaper and reads aloud, "Bush wins Oz by a landslide; Munchkins declared part of 'Axis of Evil'."

She giggles at this. He's not sure why. Maybe she thinks he is making it up.

Having fulfilled the bench's purpose, they stand back up and continue their journey through the park. The park is somehow not right. Not normal. The light mist shimmers, silver in the moonlight, as if pixie dust scattered by gleeful fey, or perhaps by a magical imp named Amélie who grins in a disturbingly absurd fashion. They pass a statue of a gargoyle. The placard on it reads: Frederico Alphonse, 1914-present. She seems unfazed by this bizarre statue and leads him onward.

She leads him across a stone bridge on which stands a housefly. There is nothing unusual about this fly, and yet it seems to have been there since time out of mind. The fly does not question their passage; bridges are for people to cross, so they are merely fulfilling the bridge's purpose. Once they are across, she pauses as though a though has struck her, then turns around and leads him back under the bridge. The housefly, growing curious, flies down to where he can watch them.

She takes out a pipe and loads up the bowl, then produces a lighter from the left front pocket of her jeans. The lighter is black and shiny, somehow simultaneously plastic and obsidian. She lights the pipe and takes a hit, then hands him the pipe and lighter. Wordlessly, they smoke the bowl, then resume their journey through the park.

A rainbow whips past them. Off in the distance, through the moonlight and pixie dust, two sticks of butter march mechanically. The butter is green. Above them, a fat man floats through the air, naked, twirling endlessly.

"What the fuck-" he begins, but she puts her finger to his lips.

"Shh... It's Magical."

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