Study the face. It may look familiar. Does it? That could be your face, if you had a face like that. Ah, of course; it goes without saying. Follow it, then, if you dare. The face may lead you astray, or it may lead you to salvation, or it may go into a place for which it has tickets and you do not, and the only way to know is to keep up with it.

What's that stuff trailing behind it? It's stringy, it's gooey, it's a load of hooey. Gather some up, put it in your pocket, you never know when you'll need it and pockets are made for moments like this. Feel how warm it is against your thigh. Now, breathe deeply, fix your Hair, and slide into town. Leave the face behind; you don't need it, after all. You're a cruisin' dude, looking for trouble with your name on it. There's some, in that alley, under the hobo with the godawful body odor. Roll him over and take a look. Hey, that stench, it's not the hobo, it's the portal to the underworld of which he is merely the gatekeeper. Hand over your load of hooey, grease up your pants and hop on in, you're the next contestant.

When you reach the bottom, you suddenly have a vision in your shoes. Their laces reach into your mind and stir up your viscous memories, jostling repressed names and faces and... hey, you know that face. You remember now. It came in a box of cereal when your were a wee lad. You had many good times together, but at last, your mother found out and she took it away from you. All these years, she must have saved it, waiting for the day you would be ready...