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It can happen anywhere...
His beard was pure white and well-trimmed. His lengthy dreadlocks were every shade of the rainbow. He wore all the accoutrements of a new age guru, long white robe, a bevy of beads, bangles and baubles adorning his person from head to toe. With a jangly flourish he accosted her by means of a big pink crystal and a feather fan made from the wing of a Raven. He maundered in a strange unintelligible language punctuated with hoots and howls. Passers-by laughed at the spectacle as they promenade along their merry way while she seemed to have gone paralytic in mid-walk, mid-block of a busy Manhattan street scene. He ran the crystal through the air around her body and tapped her with the Raven wing in several places - the top of her head, her heart, her belly, her feet. Time slowed down, his words becoming legible at half-speed. He held his long arms out to embrace the world, "None of this is real child" then bow ceremoniously to her and departed, disappearing into the crowd, leaving her in a cloud of Patchouli. The world returned to its chaotic NYC reality and she was released from her temporary containment. She glanced around puzzled as if she were vaguely aware of some interaction having taken place but was unable to recall what, then looking down at her wristwatch, she noticed she was late late late for a very important date.
