Look hard enough though naive eyes, you can find anything you want — even directions to Bill Burroughs’ temporary autonomous zone. In Verona, Italy, even.
I followed it some way, hoping to stumble across a laconic, altered bar full of mugwumps, reptiles and wildboys, or a swirling market selling poisons, weapons and cloaks of invisibility, but no such luck.
Mind you, there’s always tomorrow.
