Making dreams in the kitchen.

Magically the recipes appear.

More from method, the food appears.

The philosophy included in each meal is vitally important to its outcome.

So is the sentiment.

Drums were playing from between the trees.

There must be a drummer.

Soon waves of wind, they sound so, will smother the beat.

The day has rhythm all about itself.

We dressed.

When we met them they were dressed.

A short walk to the swimming jetty, we all undressed and dived or jumped in to the blue waters.

An ice cream vendor swam out to offer pistachio and melon.

A bell rang.

Children laughed with their parents.

A routine was born.

Two control knobs.

One controls the gateway to the future.

The other controls who can walk through.

We know no more about it.

The ones who created this system are already there.

Or not.

If we turn the wrong control, even if we turn the correct one, we have no idea what should or could happen.

Pure fiction.

The agreed target was 37.

Once we reached it we could stop and eat beans.

This was the classic end-of-the-trail food.

Only one cook out of a hundred got it right.

The road was more valuable than the goal.

A hill of beans.