I'm fleeing someone through city streets. Ahead, the way is blocked by a dense crowd. Decide I'd better fly. Few people can, and even if my hunters can too, they'll stand out.

So I climb above the crowd, puffing with effort. Start up a long slope jammed with people--mostly women. They feel like the crowded cafes of San Francisco I saw today--I was surprised how different they were--some cafe crowds attracted me, others not at all.

I try to stay above these cafe crowds, rising terrace by terrace into the deep blue sky. But I can't climb steeply enough--at the slope's summit, I hit a long, thin wall. Cling to a ledge.

Windy up here. But then, I'm more a kite than a bird--I prefer to ride updrafts. Still air's just too hard!

Look down on the crowds and clouds below--level as a sea. Strange. I'm used to the Sierra Nevada's summer thunderheads and banner clouds--clouds above not below, and not flat like this.

Where am I?

NEXT DAY

I'm working at the library. A new book comes in: Alpenflug. Aerial views of the Alps. Open it to find my perch in the dream, looking down on a cloud-sea, shockingly flat. And several shots show something else I've never seen (for it's just not a thing in America): atop a glacial horn, a crowded cafe.

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