The emptiness was warm and dark, like waking up wrapped in 600 count sheets at 3:30 on an early spring morning. This is what she was made for; made from. Quietly waiting between space and action, enveloped in sleepy potential, lending no definition to time or motion. Those things wanted her, wanted to sink their barbs deep into her being, but that wasn't what she was made for. She closed her eyes, took something like a deep breath, and pushed through.

Blue Coyote was waiting on the other side. Sitting on a round red leather stool in an Oakland diner playing some strange homebrew on a beat up PSP. He casually thumbed buttons as a cartoon indian chased down hapless cowboys, hogtied them, then threw them in front of a bison stampede. It looked like you got points for both the wrangling and the trampling.

"A kid on the Oklahoma res made it," he chuckled when he noticed her squinting at the screen. "Could use some tweaks in the interface, but the concepts funny as hell, yeah?"

Her brows contracted in a way he was overly familiar with: the body language equivalent of "whatever", so he shrugged his shoulders and pocketed the device. White folk were always too tightly wound, too focused. Their loss.

"I had an interesting conversation with a fed last night. The guy gave me this," pulling out the little baggie with his offering in it, shaking it gently at her. She shook her head, he shrugged again and took one of the little capsules for himself.

"And this means what to me?" she said.