Eventually, the elevator slunk to a halt and the doors opened to reveal a rather grey room containing an armchair, a coffee table and a small orange microwave. On the coffee table sat an empty digitised wine receptacle next to a calendar that read: iswas. I sank into the armchair, removed the pewter ashtray from my pocket and poured its contents into the digitised wine receptacle. I sipped at the thick black juice for about an hour until I was full, and then, as I clumsily placed the receptacle back down on the table to light a smoke that I'd retrieved from behind my ear, I accidentally instigated a delayed logarithmic oscillation that span through the room until everything went meta-sonic...