A cool desert breeze filters through my hair; the moonlight glaring on the windscreen illuminates the long straight road in front of me. The hum of my '66 Cadillac is the only thing that breaks the monotony in a dark and featureless landscape.
The road slowly melts into a blazing city, and the neon glow burns harshly in my tired eyes. I pull into a small, dilapidated parking lot, and stroll across the street to an old, run-down factory.
I pull back the rusting gate on the cargo elevator, squealing as it gives way. The elevator greets each floor with a soft ka-thunk. The shutter rattles as I lift it open, and clatters closed behind me. The floorboards, worn from fifty years hard labour, creak beneath my feet like the aching knees of an old man as I stroll across the room. A mile away on the other side of the room, lies my bed. I sink into the mattress, finding the familiar groove worn from so many days' sleep.
The sun greets my eyelids, as I finally drift off.