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The day will come when you'll have to escort a dead-drunk friend home after a wild party. Your worried gaze will bounce off the windows, while the traffic lights and the lights of the oblivious, sleeping city will be blurred by the pouring rain. Before falling asleep again, this woman will mumble something about a squirrel that isn't afraid; an alcoholic delusion, no doubt about it.

The next evening, as you walk under the arcades, hands in your pockets, between the jokes of kids and steam rising from the manholes, you'll wander into that same park and see the silhouette of a squirrel on a tree. Of course, it's just a coincidence, no matter if that silly thing doesn't run away… but when you get closer it will wink at you. Then you'll follow the squirrel and tumble down a flight of stairs; when you get up, you'll find yourself in the middle of a totally empty neighborhood, and wherever you go, you'll always find the door to a building that looks like a drab yellow cube.

You’ll enter the cube, and your legs will move of their own accord, and you'll be catapulted onto a never-ending dance floor, the strobe lights illuminating infinity, or maybe it's just a huge aquarium with mysterious girls swaying, distinguished gentlemen holding blue smoking goblets, bodies passed out in a river of mescaline. You can’t do anything about it anymore, you can’t eat, you can’t sleep, you can’t escape—only join this alien dance as the checkerboard floor lights up, changes color, as your synapses melt among strange shapes, the gentlemen with the blue smoking goblets look at you and smirk, and a nymph from some planet will offer you a drink that hits your throat like a punch. The whole world will dissolve in a blurry vortex spinning and spinning like the celestial vault, while laughter echoes in your head and the shapes with white masks float around you…

A few hours later you'll wake up, relieved to find that it was only a dream. It hardly matters that there's a squirrel smiling contentedly at you from the window.