Hmm...

The sound coming through the wall sounded distressed. Perhaps it’s owner was not being kind to it. That, the temperature (cool heading on cold with a promise of moisture and an oppressive front of harsh, white light) and Graham’s (Ethel’s) own biology had him (her) sitting on the bathroom tiles, also distressed. Many people would think it great to able to experience the effect of being on drugs with-out the hassle of procuring, ingesting and suffering side effects of same, but not Graham (Ethel). He (she) rather tended to focus on the facet that left him (her) unable to not feel as if he (she) was popping through the door in the neural attic; the fact that he (she) was here, strung out on the bathroom floor on a Friday night, freaked out by (the very interesting, nice) noise (that would undoubtedly be kind to him ((her)) later) after the trip that never was. Joy, rapture, angels take him (her) away (after first spontaneously popping into existence, of course). (Are these brackets starting to annoy you? You could always paste the file into a text editor and remove them). (Pay no attention to my misery. Go right ahead).

(Okay, fine, be like that. I’m not writing any more).