You make prints next to the prints on the road. They are yours alright. You follow them on a childish whim. You find images you apparently edged in the road or that you stood around gazing at. Doors, angry Indians, strange animals. Odd symbols. You may have made them, they look kinda like your style. You walk on. The road gets muddy. You follow your foot prints as they trod right through the mud. But then they suddenly stop. Bigger and bigger mud puddles ahead and a dirt road over pass looming above the swampy landscape.