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Momentarily, the mumbling from the nearby stalls hushes, listening.

Like something trying their hardest not to cry?

The shape is robust and clean, with an architectural asymmetry. Like a knife.

Somewhere in the background, Gonza's monologue continues, heedless of any audience but himself.

From the dark interior beyond, a door quietly opens, followed by some shuffling.

Everyone in a 10 metre radius must have heard that. That includes anyone sleeping inside this houseboat.

On the cover, the halo of a lunar eclipse frames the silhouette of a young woman, her outline distorted by the jagged edges of the costume she wears.

Swirling maelstroms of darkness adorn the album cover, intricate but hardly-visible patterns of black on slightly-darker-black.

The monkey descends into a series of gnashing shrieks and limb spasming in excitement and outrage at your quest.

It is standing on what looks like a pile of stolen goods.

The wall is disturbingly moist. Like fresh morning dew on a tree trunk, but evil.

More giggles in the hallway, the sound of footsteps running away.

Pressing against your heart once more.

Vinyl, or a rented tuk-tuk's dashboard. Not unpleasant.

As he pronounces the name 'Gonza', a hair-tingling scream echoes along the canal.

You can see the resemblance now. Karolina has his eyes.

But her voice trembles with relief.

Two aero-trams criss-cross somewhere above you. The apartment's windows rattle in their frames.

No backhanded retort, no reflexive insult.

Her fingers are spangled with violet glitter.

Her eyes flash with new tones, almost finding a unified colour.

The piano from the next room still plays, the melody repeating, softly insistent. You are dimly aware that the melody has changed.

The piano from a room beyond this one still plays, the melody repeating, softly insistent.

Carried from a nearby apartment, a piano melody floats through the room as if on small wings.

Behind his glasses, his eyes glisten.

You smell smoke and burning.

His chest keeps rising and falling in slow, uneven swells.

Colours bloom between the pulses, pale iridescent violets and fleeting greens.

He is heavier than he looks.

A drop of blood shines on his lip -- he must have bitten his tongue on the way down.

Cola flavour, if you had to guess.

The pupils quiver like a failing heartbeat.

It's like kicking a water bed.

Behind milky corneas, his eyes sharpen.

His eyes are deep blue.

It's like kicking a water bed.

The smell of alcohol singes the inside of your nose.

His sleeve slides up and, for a moment, you see the hint of tattoos, black and dense.

Expired coffee, greasy condiment residue. Typewriter ink. Chemically processed wood pulp.

The bitter scent of rotting vegetable matter fills your nasal cavities. Saliva pools in the corners of your mouth.

High pitched squeaks and the scrabbling of claws from within the tubes, it is a rat maze.

Please don't imagine that. Definitely don't be tempted to drink it, either.

As the minutes pass, you catch yourself scanning the surroundings. Lamp posts, trash cans, flower planters...

People float by in the distance, trams rattle overhead, but all you care about is how your spine seems to be rippling with ease.

Hush as it falls.

The bomb vibrates happily in your hands.

Your lips move, muscle memory. You know this song. You know the next line...

299 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 3 of 6