My head ws beginning to get all muzzy inside, a familiar feeling from so long ago. Dropping the Aseeds, I could see, might not have been the best plan. I was coming on, in spades, trippin' like a tourist in downtown Katmandu, and I had not idea what neighborhood I had actually ended up in. Something about a BOH RAN and a tipple, or tipster and ... wait! I the distance, I could hear the slight warble of a tentative soprano. A familiar sound for a familar, if long ago, state of mind. Shuffling down the alley, my feet turned leaden by the slow-motion effects of the Aseeds, my head buzzing madly, chasing around in my head like a terrier trying to nip his own tail, I followed the sound and could, with all my concentration focused in its direction, make out the lyrics. I KNEW those lyrics. I had heard them so long ago: "Puff the Stupid Dragon, lived by a tree, And carried skin diseases, Including leprosy..."

I turned -- another alley. What a town -- all alleys, no streets -- and saw a rickety flight of stairs leading up the outside of a tumbled-down two-story building. The song was more insistent now:

"Puff the Stupid Dragon, Lived on a shelf, And nobody would play with him So he played with ....

I burst through the door. And saw her. Saw her in the flesh and in the black leather now. No hallucination, no side-trip. No, this time she was an actual part of the narrative:

"Mom? Mom! What on earth has happened to you?"