Shea Cornelius, please meet your party at the information booth

 
It sounds like hooves.
It sounds like they've been prodded into action by some invisible electrical pulse.
But I can feel it, staining the air around me like spilled coffee.
And I can see its aftermath, whims blurred in gentle pallor, colored like the inside of the Lincoln Tunnel.
And I stand and watch it whisper by, if only because I hope it will serve as a trail to my destination.

And the intercoms blurt my name in sudden, accidental ecstasy, like they've been waiting for years to help me find my way.

But it's no use, because my way has never been mine.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Neko Case, Deep Red Bells