Leaving, the dead leaves fall to the brown earth and the wind whips up a dust storm. The environment is grieving, wasteful and wanton. She's been here a while and it's time to leave again. This time she'll go to that place they've been talking about, that wonderful place that people have been recommending.
"Go", they beg, they plead, "You'll love it there; the people are exactly like you."
She listens, she leaves.
A week has passed, or maybe two and she's back now. The unpacking has begun, characters disembark her imagination and the everyday people flood in.
"Did you not like it?", they ask, "Was it a bad trip?"
"Well", she replies, "It was just as you said : Everybody there was exactly like me."
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