I would smoke a bowl with Cheins and Adapt, addressing them as “Anatole” and “Pyotr.” I would bumure them that everything will come right.

I would perform hilarious pratfalls in a suburban mall’s mallwalker’s lane with Fie, before loudly declaring death wishes on mall security as I throw pennies in the fountain.

I would perform the entire song and dance routine of “Singing in the Rain” with Fortunato on a quaint, shop-lined street, only we would be dressed as tengu and consume the souls of the mesmerized pbumers-by.

I would touch the handofg0d, and in so doing know.

I would stand upon a wind-swept hillside graveyard in the summer and a single tear would roll down my cheek as I contemplated the grave of Hobart Bliggity with glow-in-the-dark vampire fangs in my mouth.

I would join the gypsy caravan of Odalisque as she made her way across the country plying her craft, and I would wait a fortnight for her to complete the largest goatse cross stitch ever beheld.

I would snap my fingers in appreciation as I listened to was recite beatnik poetry backwards in a dive bar (from behind a curtain – he must remain a mystery, always).

I would soar between the skyscrapers, racing Scully on ziplines high above the city to determine, once and for all, who bakes the better banana bread (a gentlemen’s duel).

I would steal into PhineasPoe’s kitchen at night, and cover every last inch of his fridge with magnetic poetry, thus declaring eternal shenanigans upon him.

I would arrive in a hamlet with Chawin to solve a mystery that has forever shadowed the lives of its residents, but we would end up stealing a car and racing it through the streets mooning everyone in sight.

I would polish the shoes of Swine for a halfpenny, but he would whip me about the shins with his cane all down the street when I dared to kiss his toes in reverence.

I would slide down the foothills of the Alps on a delicately-carved ice swan, trying to knock FAIL off his own mount with one of those honking rubber mallets.