The room you remember can just barely be made out. The upright piano is caked with the wax of thousands whose flames have long since gone out. The floor, once carpeted with clothes to the thickness of the mattress in the corner has been cleared of the clutter, the matress is now made as a bed. Only the deliberately inconspicuous eyebolts, your razor sharp eyes catch sight of, provide a reminder of the Indigo you once knew and loved.

Suddenly you realize there is a person standing here dressed in a flesh-hugging outfit of leather and steal. You smile, knowing that it is Indigo, and that your trek was not vain.

	--				       --
	| I, as author of this serpentine world,|
	| feel it is only respectful to close a |
	| curtain on the events which follow in |
	| this corridor.  Such intimate moments |
	| are property of two consenting adults.|
	< Those who find this spot are either a >
	| part of the understanding few who can |
	| email me for the further details else |
	| are merely lucky travelers who by hap-|
	| penstance found a voyeuristic peek at |
	| a rarely exposed surface to my person.|
	--				       --