From The Migraine Country

An electronic postcard:

Dear Friend,

Hope you, too, were here, puking and seeing odd geometric patterns in the darkness behind your eyelids. Arrival was bumpy as usual. The morning was spent on fearing that I would die, the afternoon fearing that I would not die, after all. The food here is fast. That's about the only thing I can say about it. Sounds, smells and sights are too much to bear.

I hope to start the return trip soon, via that charming stage of living in soft clouds for an hour or two.

Yours, even in pain,

Echidne