I am in Los Angeles, in a hotel room. I am arguing with someone about what we should do. To my surprise, Harry Hill is performing locally, but instead of going to see him, we end up in a McDonald's.
Suprisingly the food is quite nice. Instead of the liquified chicken that usually fills an American McNugget, the contents were almost meaty. And the fries don't disintegrate in my hands.
Later on, I am deposited in south Los Angeles. I have to cover the twenty or so miles back to my hotel on foot. I am walking up small back-streets in an indeterminable part of the city, when I remember that I could be walking through gangland without realising it. I therefore decide to stick to the main roads.
I come upon a large school, just like Sweet Valley High or any other stereotypical American high school. There is a picnic table outside, and I sit at it.
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