SAKRETE and bug spray have been successful at holding the Kurtzian savagery of the Florida jungle at bay. And so we bide our time and precariously build a civilization. [Insert segue here.] A few of the undefeated in Orlando decided to investigate this precarious piece of humanity. We recruited the ancient mystical praxis of psychogeography for this purpose.

Our first psychogeography venture? Well, the Sun planned to crush us. The wind? Unsympathetic. We decided to decipher Florida's hippest new neighborhood: Virginia Heights. A place where: Dadaists, anarchists, poets, philosophers, comedians, painters, sculptors, activists, old and young congregate and play at having a piece of city. Psychogeography was a natural.

That first cloudless day the city bled radiation and brightened our gray matter like a Tesla experiment. Somehow the psychogeography gods decided that we should be stuck in a health care compound on the edge of our fair beatnik village. One of us had vomited that morning, the Sun was full throttle and our rations were meager. The Sun won the battle of attrition. It will always win.

After little more than an hour, we limped back to the air-conditioned comfort of our respected hovels. What had that hour meant? Or is meaning a corny concept anymore? Did we forward the cause of Proletarian revolution? Not a chance. Was it an amusing experiment of some kind? Yes.

So, with the die in hand and the Sun above, we opened a few doors. It was pretty fun.