Joe strode out slowly into the center of the desolate avenue. The wind blew with a steady moan through the concrete canyon formed by the buildings on either side. He saw little dust devils form on the street and then dissipate.

The buildings were shells of what they once were. The cars were rotting hulks. Looking up at the overcast ceiling above, he saw what he’d not noticed initially—that it bore a sheen of colors, like an oil slick on water, covering a sizable chunk of the sky. It was exactly like he’d seen in his most recent dream—Joe tried to comprehend what that meant, as he paced slowly down the avenue. Each time he glanced up at it, the celestial sheen twinkled in the clouds, like a spider web, glistening with morning dew. Joe felt twinges of the acid trip sensation returning to him and he clenched his jaw. He could even hear traces of that music still, although he wasn’t sure if it actually carried through the city, or if it just echoed in his mind.

The street was covered in dust and debris, and Joe walked down the center of it. The double yellow stripes were faded and worn but still visible. The buildings and landmarks around him were just as he remembered them, albeit similarly abandoned and decrepit. But somehow the desolation in his midst wasn’t the most startling thing. Staring more closely, he realized that some sections of the city block were weirdly bland—like cookie-cut building templates, with no architectural details or nuance whatsoever. It was like taking a walk through his own mind—the city was filled-out as he knew it, but there were plenty of gaps in between that he couldn’t recall.

“Where am I?” Joe whispered to himself. The truth—that he’d gone physically into his own dream—was sitting there, but he wasn’t ready to believe it yet.

He stopped walking in the center of a wide thoroughfare, where the sprawling Massachusetts Avenue cut diagonally through a perpendicular intersection. He had been walking southbound, but while standing still he turned and looked to the north with wide eyes, sensing the terror emanating from there. Dreams could flip into nightmares pretty easily, he knew this too well, and peering in that direction, he stared one of them right in the eyes. He heard the dour bell tone somewhere in the distance, the forecasting of doom, and in the middle of the windswept road, with dust devils running past his feet, he studied the anomaly with a harrowing expression on his face.

Everything to the north part of the city was drawn into a black and white vortex, like it had become an ink drawing—there were no colors at all, and not even any greys. The streets and buildings in that direction lost their dimension and depth, or any kind of practical engineering sense. The angles of buildings were not squared off, not even close, instead they were wildly acute or obtuse, and roads didn’t fade into the distance like they were supposed to. It was like looking at a Picasso sketch.

He heard its voice a few times, somewhere within the encroaching madness, a kind of shrieking, juvenile laughter, like a punk kid might make. It echoed through the concrete canyons, carried along with the wind. The shadow—it could only be the shadow. And it was near. It always had lived in his subconscious, and ostensibly this was where he’d gone—into a physical manifestation of it. So now they were finally on the same level, on the same plane. There was no more boundary between him and it.

Just as he detected the first hint of movement deep within the zany checkerboard land to the north, Joe turned rapidly and broke into a steady stride southbound. This gradually became a frenzied jog. There was no question where he was heading. He was sure she would be there this time. He finally had everything on the right frequency. On the right channel.

It wasn’t so terrible actually that he’d brought the city of D.C. along with him into this world of dreams. Surely it was just because it had been all around him when he’d transferred over, so the cityscape simply followed along. Basically, he populated a blank slate—like a dream. Only this time he was actually there—physically there. And the city, while ghostly and desolate, had an advantage nonetheless. Because he knew it well—and so did she. And he knew right where she’d be. They had a meeting point already established. It was unspoken, but they’d both know it. He had no doubt.