Out of the glass double doors comes a stream of hypnotized-looking
men and women in dark blue, brown, and black suits and skirts. With a
wink and an enigmatic grin, the piper leads them down the avenue. Cars
screech and crash at the side streets. The piper leads them to the cliff
overlooking the ocean, and he walks unconcernedly off into the air.

The suits, slowly at first, then with increasing volume and velocity,
spill over the edge and flow, a blue, black and brown waterfall of crisp
fabric and shiny shoes, into the ocean.

Like lava pressing into the weakly protesting sea, like an Indian buffalo
drop, a flood of splayed, moaning bodies. At moonrise, out from the surf
come monsters who drag the suits into the water to be recycled.