So Wayne decides to take us down a dirt road, and it suddenly gets dark and we're being chased by two dogs--one black, one white--which may or may not be made of smoke. We hurry to get to the light up ahead and discover a farmyard filled with cartons of eggs. (Wayne doesn't like eggs.)
Then we're drving around an island off the coast of Wales and discover an enclave of hotels and diners that are still operating under the assumption that it's the 1950s. We haven't brought any luggage, but we decide to stay the night anyway. Mostly, I spend the evening looking for a bathroom. They're all out of order.
[Intermission to go pee and try to figure out when George got into the bed.]
It turns out, this island takes in fifteen people each year on a kind of scholarship. Wayne and I fill out applications. They require algebra. I do pretty well.
[George kicks me and laughs in his sleep, so I don't know if we got accepted or not.]
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