Half obscured by a swirling mist is Neil Gaiman, standing in a long, black trenchcoat, upon the flat, hard sands of a North Sea beach. The tide has gone out, so far out that no one is quite sure if it is ever coming back again. In the mist looms a Punch and Judy show, its boards untrodden by the cackling wife-beater. Beyond that, a candyfloss stall, blooms of pink fuzz swaying in the mist, decaying in the clinging moisture. The strains of a mad Russian musician drift in through the thickening fog. You can't see your hand in front of your face, although you know that it – and Neil, and the mad Russian – is still there.
Ok, pictured that? Well, that is just how this sounds (mp3 1.1meg). My friend Steve wrote this music today to go with a story written by one of his friends. Personally, I think it's ace.
I have no idea if the story it was written for features Neil Gaiman.
Imagine, if you will
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