How did I get here? And where is here? What happened to me? Why are my pants wet?
I asked myself these questions as I stumbled to my feet, my hands black and shiny with grime. Looking around nothing made sense. I was somewhere dark - the absence of light told me that - but I could not see anything else.
The ground had been dry, covered with little sharp rocks which stabbed into my hands as I tried to rise. And yet my pants were wet. No, it couldn't be - I couldn't have!
Suddenly things became easier to see - my eyes were slowly adjusting to the light - or was it growing lighter? Yes. I could now make out shapes, but could not focus on them - it was like I was walking through a fog - and yet the air was chokingly dry. Only my pants were wet.
Around me were twelve things - I dare not call them more than that because at that moment they were just amorphous somethings on the edge of my vision. Choosing, I set out towards the one directly behind and left of me - as it seemed the most logical course of action.
I walked for what seemed like forty-five seconds, my heart pounding and my lungs gasping for air at the end of my arduous journey. And my pants had gotten more wet. I now stood beside the object - I could reach out and touch it, and yet my eyes would not focus - the huge tan shape in front of me remained just that - a shape.
Then I touched it. As I ran my hand over it - the fog dissappeared, the bit I had touch revealed itself at once to my eyes. Excited, I started rubbing the entire shape, expecting to see some sort of a holy shrine or the meaning of life or some other incredible object.
And it was incredible - but not as I had desired. In front of me sat a beige '77 El Camino. Laughing hysterically, I felt my pants getting wetter.