I'll keep it
simple.
I'm naked, riding a
tricycle. The road I'm riding on is made of enormous books, which
overlap slightly, giving the road a bumpy surface. Off in the distance, trees of
impossible size reach up to the sky. As I look closer, I can tell that the tress are actually paper
cut-outs, somewhat poorly colored in with
crayons. I come to a series of rolling hills, which increase
exponentially in height and steepness. Eventually I begin to ascend a nearly
vertical hill and as I near the peak, the road disintegrates and I fall and fall with giant books all around me, flapping their covers like
wings.