From an exterior perspective, one would consider Addison a relatively tranquil man; relative to the people he worked with and occasionally met outside of work.

Addison thought about the ridiculous qualities that accompanied his pointless and time consuming job (for which he believed there were many), while forgetting to pay attention to his daughter that he was, at the moment, tucking into bed. He kissed her cold forehead; no real compassion was displayed by either party.

He walks out of the dark bedroom and down the narrow hallway to the living room where his wife is watching a poor situational comedy on television. The fake monotone laughter from the TV hurts his ears as he walks through the empty space between them.

He�s in the kitchen now, staring into his refrigerator without a prosperous cause---a routine occurrence when he is bored. He wants the struggle of being unique to vanish with all of these random and inedible foods (i.e. jalapeno jelly, anchovy paste, pickled asparagus). �Oh, Addison, honey...can you go pick up some Cracked Pepper Potato Bagels for me?� his wife asks, �I just have this craving.�

He doesn�t care about satisfying her craving, but he mumbles: �okay.� It was an excuse to get out of the house.

He gets into his expensive white car that his wife wanted; he doesn�t care about cars. In fact, when asked what kind of car he drove, it took him several minutes to remember.

Imagine: you�re inside any fashionable, expensive car (i.e. BMW, Mercedes, Audi), it doesn�t matter.

The smooth jazz station turned on quietly and simultaneous with the car; he cringes and turns it off quickly.

Imagine: you�re hearing an electric drum kit and a soprano saxophone.

He drove slowly and considered it to be a wise way of spending his time. But that thought was short-lived and, unintentionally, his mind began wandering in the silence along with the qualities of a good driver. He lets the car swerve from one side of the lane to the other, stomping loudly on the dirt that lay on both sides of the constrictive road. His mind starts to function from a powerfully metaphysical perspective and all his past experiences seem inconsequential.

Imagine: you�re hovering over a driver�s seat, being entirely consumed by the wind (i.e. rising smoke, falling leaves, a waving flag).

The car and his thoughts are moving as one; are gaining speed; dancing around the problems of ordinary, practical life, then drifting passively through the illusion of life itself. His eyes stay unfocused, staring at a prolonged first glance of the night---blurred spots and hazy outlines of earth appear in his headlight vision. He looks up from this utopian feeling and freezes for a timorous and indeterminate moment of time, before laying all his weight upon the gas peddle in an attempt to prevent him from driving off a cliff...

Addison awakes in a mood unprecedented by the mind of most people. He is at the bottom of a small cliff and wonders quite affably if he is dead while he exits the car which remains content, vertically leaning itself against the side of the cliff. Not a single wound can be discovered on his body.

He looks up at the dense blue sky; an upside-down aerial view of a thick and active ocean with a fast-forward perception of its movement (i.e. currents, waves, tides).

He unbuttons his white and blue striped collar shirt and takes off his shoes and socks. He decides to walk home, for if he is not dead he will be excited to tell his wife that her car fell off a cliff and probably doesn�t work anymore. So he walks, digging his feet heavily into the soft dirt, which before now, he did not know existed.

He soon reaches his house and walks inside more timid than usual. He sees a silhouette of his wife still watching television but doesn�t say anything; he walks closer to sit on the couch beside her. When he looks up he notices a plastic mannequin in her place, he moves his nervous hand upon the mannequin�s left arm and is frightened more by the sensation of touch. He stands up in disbelief; throwing his hand against his chest and noticing the reflection from the TV screen appear clearly upon her plastic head. He remains there for a time, watching her in slow motion.

He then walks through the narrow hallway and into the dark room where he tucked his daughter into bed. She laid still and fake; �just the way I left her,� he thought. He bends down calmly and kisses her cold forehead of plastic.

Not looking back, Addison retraces his footsteps out of the dark house.

Imagine: you�re rising towards the light that shines through the sinkhole of a solution cave.

He was completely conscious and totally keen to his senses; yet he was relieved of all pain; akin to analgesic narcotics (i.e. codeine, heroine, morphine).

He continues to float while he walks, a transcendental sensation produced by having detached a mind from a body.

Imagine: you�re molding the clay of life in your hands, discovering shaded parts where the sun has yet to fade its surface; and finally, tenderly forming those parts which have previously been deprived (i.e....