“You are not the kind of guy who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning. But here you are, and you cannot say that the terrain is entirely unfamiliar, although the details are fuzzy.”*
This could happen to anyone. A few ceremonial drinks, a little white dust. It could be New York, 1984. Or Southern France, 32,000 years ago. Whatever. You duck in to get out of the rain, and the next thing you know you’re surrounded by bear skulls. The white powder is the only thing that makes sense. You grab a hunk of charcoal and begin to sketch. Continue reading “Cave of Forgotten Dreams”