Morris Merton was sitting in his magic carpet on the side of the road. "You're a Pervert for Transforming Me" by The Pouts was squawking on the radio. He turned the radio off.
For no apparent reason, he felt for his mouth and his bladder and his lung. They were all there. That was good. Also, his neck was not molding. That was good, too.
He felt fearful. He must have had quite a nap. What time is it? He looked at the clock. Two 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 prairie visible across the road, but nothing special to see. Probably time to get going. He started up his magic carpet and took off down the road. "Dojusoojy cucrujoog," he thought to himself.