I imagined some sort of banquet being op of t earlier t day, at t be t, going on into t.

    Just t warning -- I disappeared.

    Maybe it , or t midnigep I took, I felt myself sinking deeper into a quicksand y vanis ion Id . t me . It  me but a stand-in, fas of plaster. I rubbed my  my face. But it  my face. And it  my  pounded in my c, sending t a crazy speed. ter puppet, a voodoo doll into , p going tions. I , to be some sacrifice.

    So whe real me? I wondered.

    Suddenly, Izumis voice came out of nos. anding s en you all up. All ts left is bones.

    I looked around. It reiny she voice had been n my head.

    Stop ts, I told myself. As if trying to avoid a o a rock at ttom of t tired, I told myself, and over doesnt matter  grab someto my pocket for ty in my hand.

    I tried o tment back in Unoki. tion Id left betle jazz collection. My specialty  of ties and sixties. Lennie tristano, Al  of t of print, and it aken a lot of time and money to collect tly made trades ors, slo ;first-rate.quot; But I loved timate atmospy old records conveyed. tty dull place if it -rate, rigail of ts came back to me ? t and  of the albums in my hands.

    But noerated time would I hose records.

    I remembered tobacco ed ed o , and never let go.

    t the music.

    opped playing? Certainly t y. After all, it o begin , too, irely possible. I no longer trusted my o my consciousness ? dropped a ted line doo t darkness. Bu I couldnt  even an echo.

    I l