I am walking through the streets of Melbourne, Australia; my home town. It's getting late, probably close to midnight, and I'm desperately in need of a beer. I decide to head to the backpacker district in North Melbourne, thinking that it'll be easy to find an open bar.

The area turns out to be like a ghost-town from a Western film; all looming, over-arching buildings, a certain unsettling silence in the air. A figure appears on one of the rooftops, a cowboy of sorts, dressed in white. He wields a baseball bat and a sack full of baseballs, which he begins hitting my way.

A run for cover in one of the bars, which happens to be the one he's standing on top of. "There's an idiot on the roof hitting baseballs at people" I begin to tell barman, still puffing from the short run across the street.

The cowboy appears out of nowhere, obviously having descended down the interior stairs. He approaches me, grabs my face in his huge hand, and begins grinding it into the surface of the bar.

I look up to try to envoke some kind of action from the other patrons, but they stare blankly at me.

"Am I just imagining all this" I ask them.

"Yes", they reply.