Dolores was feeling lost.
She'd spoken with psychiatrists, psychics, priests, shamans, drug dealers, pharmaceutical reps, genealogists, deconstructionists, ascetics, hedonists, general practitioners, herbalists, and none could point a path out of her massive debt, depression, loneliness, insufficiency, social anxiety, and insecurity over her breast size, waist size, nose size, ass size, and hair style. The last person she saw was a zen monk named Steve. She found him in a cloud of incense and proceeded to unload her massive dissatisfaction and despair. Steve nodded, smiled, and didn't say a word.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" whined Dolores. "I feel so lost."
Steve looked concerned, then said, "this might help" and handed her a folded piece of paper.
PostcardQuest2011
My picture: you are here, a cropped version of a photo found in gnarl's flikr stream.