I was facedown in swamp muck beneath a moss green moon, gasping for air and choking on aquatic slime, when a female hunchback grabbed me by the ankles and pulled me ashore. Red will-o’-the-wisps twirled through the fog about us, while dark pines creaked ominously overhead. What had led me to sleepwalk to such a place? Had I been dreaming of what might lay beyond the edge of the city, far from its apathetic citizenry, tangible greed, all that privilege and expectation? Away from the howls and squeals of cars, trains, and other oiled machines? Had my soul looked to escape the leech-suck of it all? And who was this savior of mine, this decrepit hag wearing nothing but a potato sack for a garment? I inquired, but she would not speak. Instead she hummed, though not in any musical sense. Rather, that soft buzzing deep within her dewlapped neck sounded more like an electric power line. How strange, I thought, this woman’s presence near such a terrible, noxious swamp, for she was frail,