It easily entranced me. I started to walk into the whorling field of color. And as soon as I stepped over the threshold, my shoe was snatched off of my left foot. The shoe spiraled away into the spinning distant epicenter. I jumped back involuntarily and slammed against the dumpster I had just crawled out of, then puked in. I considered jumping back in it just to escape ththe sight of this strange vortex that just ate my favorite left shoe. . . .

I should've know something was terribly wrong when I didn't smell the salty balm of the ocean. And that reminds me, where was that ebbing and flowing sound emanating from anyway? As if hearing my thought, a mouth in the middle of the psychedelic vortex appeared and said: "If you don't like the sound of my breathing, then bugger off! I didn't ask you to vomit in my favorite trash can did I?"

Personally, I was struck dumbfounded. I didn't know what I was looking at now. But I gathered my wits the best I could, and asked the vortex mouth: "Where am I?"

The mouth smiled, if you can call it that, and replied: "Does it really matter? Don't you care about your favorite left shoe?"