June and I woke up on a foreign beach in a corner of our bedroom. I had become naked during the night and had begun to evolve gills. June meanwhile dressed in her old clothes but promised to find out a pair of wings for our visit to a pimple of greenery on the nude back of town. Thinking of stretch marks on a Greek goddess I rolled to town inside a clock that had last told the right time before the breakup of Pangaea - I remembered the moment exactly. June had to stand two dining chairs on top of each other so she could cook on the ceiling. She spend almost the whole day looking down on food; I had said I would look up to her but had forgotten to bring my glasses; wearing instead a map of the dark side of the moon (which I read with a torch).