It kind of felt like I was striding around a room of 19th century British gentlemen, smoking a pipe and admiring all of the mustaches. Waiting for a waiter to bring me brandy. In reality I was just walking around the elevator, but who's to say that what is happening in my head is any less real than what YOU see happening? I'm definitely wrong. Yeah, definitely.
It kind of felt like I was a detective in the 40's at his desk, drinking whiskey and looking at clues when some ridiculously attractive woman (or man in my world) waltzes in and DEMANDS TO KNOW WHERE HER HUSBAND IS (sobbing the whole time,) before she/he collapses into your arms you bang her/him and it turns out she/he stole the address of the murderer from your jacket pocket while you were getting dressed. You find out later that she shot the culprit before turning the gun on herself. In YOUR reality this is just me making a peanut butter and fluff sandwich.
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