She was always a basement dweller, a tunnel crawler, inclined to hide where the light and the chatter could not find me. Thereís a psychological answer for this behavior, and I donít mean to dismiss it, but thereís an easier solution which I believe to be more relevant: she wanted to get *away*. She wanted to find a place removed from time where she could be alone with her thoughts, where she could lose the surface-self of petty concerns and drift into something slower, something more suggestive, every object and image connected to every other. Thatís how she introduced me to the Grotto of the Sewage Priest, to which I now believe there is no end. If it seemed so distinct to me then, the surface world and the subterranean world, it is now confused and blurred. I no longer take elevators for fear I will hit the wrong button and watch the doors open upon Hell. Each doorway is a portal, an abyss, a hellmouth. I can hear the hiss of the steam tunnels wherever I go. The surface world has become the place where I hide, and as it is gradually devoured by the memetic machinery of Rv. Emersohn in his endless feud against the forces of the Black-Thighed Witch, so do my memories, my dreams. It is possible that she has and answer to this, but where she has gone I cannot follow.

the exit is hidden within the exit