I woke up wondering if I was still stuck in this slick, silver cavern, then realized I was indeed: I fought my way out, but it was only up and over, up and over, ridge after ridge and groove after groove, this moon was full of mares as brutal as any rock circling the distant third of our galaxy, but yet I climbed and climbed, slid and slid down the smooth silver surfaces, then clawed my way back up the pitted sides of the next mountains, onward toward...what? I prayed a respite, a veldt, an oasis.

Instead I found the edge. Instead I found the truth: The world was never flat; the moon is.

And in the bleat of a bus horn I awoke, realizing I had been dreaming, lost in the lakes of the moon.

Of course, the moon was a compact disc.

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