Jim wakes up in bed. But it's not his bed. It's too new, the sheets are very clean and fresh. He's wearing pajamas, which is strange, because Jim doesn't own any. He shakes his head and looks around. He's in a strange little house. The walls are orange, carpeting everywhere. There's a TV, it's bulky and has no brand name. There's some bottles of liquor in a little niche, all strangely shaped, like someone in the 60's might think was futuristic. Some toast pops up in a toaster and coffee is brewing. A woman is making an announcement over a loudspeaker somewhere in the distance but Jim is too sleepy to understand it. He steps off the bed and finds some slippers waiting for him.
Trying to figure out where he is, Jim walks to the front door and looks out. His house is part way up a hill, looking out over a quaint little village. Too quaint, ominously so. It looks like a totalitarian view of a paradise. The brick roads are clean without a speck of litter anywhere. There are people walking about, all neatly dressed, but oddly so, European but there's more too it than that. They all wear large buttons with numbers on them. Looking down, Jim notices there's even one on his pajamas. The button is an olf fashioned bicycle, with one large front wheel, and inside the front wheel is the number 6.
The only type of vehicle around is a small cart rather like a golf cart. There are lots of flowers. Everyone is walking slowly and being polite to each other. Jim's perceptive eye notices there are people from all over the world here. Dazed and disoriented, he decides to
Wed Jul 7 20:00:34 1999
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