Josh Pearson was sitting in his bicycle on the side of the road. "You're a Snake for Messing with Me" by The Belches was squawking on the radio. He turned the radio off.
For no apparent reason, he felt for his nostril and his arm and his shoulder. They were all there. That was good. Also, his hangnail was not popping. That was good, too.
He felt dapper. He must have had quite a nap. What time is it? He looked at the clock. Four p.m. About what you'd expect, still on schedule. The nap had taken no time at all.
He looked out the window. There was a tundra visible across the road, but nothing special to see. Probably time to get going. He started up his bicycle and took off down the road. "Necuryni tacryryb," he thought to himself.