I looked down at the floor. It was foam. I chortled on the Moon.

“This foam… You know, I had sex on foam once.” Then, quieter, just to myself, “With a beautiful Japanese wife.” My mind suddenly flashed back to the sex I had on foam once with a beautiful Japanese wife.

Her skin was like origami paper. Her lips were like Japanese fish you see in old paintings and woodcuts, etc. Her breasts were like two moons.

“I was just sixteen, but it was cool instead of creepy, because I’m a boy.” I lit a Moon Light, the moon cigarette, with a flick of my runes. “A boy named hilary.”

“That’s what this foam reminds me of,” I finished, pulling myself back to the conversation at hand. I couldn’t spend all of my time lost in my head, imagining something far from reality. Not when there was moon treasure to find.