Get me off the streets. Get some protection! Get me on my feet. Get some direction!

I'm walking on an anonymous street in what could be any old city, any place in the world. It's chilly out, darkest night, and the street is shining wetly in the lamplight. The threat of rain still hangs in the air, and the moon is trying to break through the charcoal grey clouds over my head.

The cobblestones in the street are uneven and slippery beneath my feet. I trip and fall, bracing myself for the shock of landing, but I don't land - not right away. I'm falling, falling, falling... through utter dense blackness, until finally I land safely on my feet on what looks like the same street - until I become oriented.

I'm in the Markt, in Bruges. Normally bustling and welcoming during the day, here in the wee hours of the night I'm eerily alone. I blink, and suddenly I'm standing in the middle of Broadway and 42nd Street in the city that never sleeps. There are people everywhere, moving like schools of fish, swimming up and down the sidewalks. A yellow cab honks and swerves to avoid me, and I dash out of the way. I blink again, and I'm in Dam Square, Amsterdam. At this time of night, it's much quieter than New York. I take a seat on a bench and wonder exactly what's happening.

It's late, and I'd like to go home. I yawn, and watch my breath wisp visibly from my mouth. Squinting my eyes, I suddenly become aware of all the places I've just visited, and more, all existing in one place simultaneously, seemingly unaware that they are sharing the same time and space - layered on top of one another like thin transparencies that expand before me with each blink of the eye. Curiously, I recognize each of the locations as they phase in - they are all places I've been before.

I think I've tripped and fallen into a rip in the space-time fabric, and I've somehow taken on the qualities of a quantum particle, in which I'm able to exist in several places at once.  It's like being inside a multiple exposure photograph. And I didn't bring my camera.

Blink. Temple Bar, Dublin. It begins to rain. I get up off the bench and look for a welcoming pub to duck into, but not before the monsoonal downpour begins. I dash through the nearest door and slosh over to a stool at the bar. The bartender brings me a Guinness and I begin to sip and look around, at the other patrons.

The man sitting to my left seems peaceful enough, sipping away at his own dark pint of stout. He's sort of handsome, this man, but serious in his calmness.  I avoid eye contact, but watch him out of the corner of my eye. He waves the bartender over and requests another pint, but the bartender tells him he's had too many and cuts him off. Suddenly, the beautiful, peaceful man transforms into an angry, ugly monster, slamming his nearly empty pint glass down on the bar, shattering it, and demanding a replacement.

The beastly man is ejected from the bar, thank goodness. I was beginning to worry about my safety. I look out the window and see that the rain is still pouring down. I order another Guinness and move to another location inside the bar, near the pool table, where a crowd has gathered around a man who has introduced himself as Joe the Lion. Joe's a bit drunk, and he's making outlandish claims and is taking bets. Dude looks like Rhys Ifans, but he thinks he's David Blaine. He's saying shit like "Nail me to my car and I'll tell you who you are". A couple of drinks on the house and he's a fortune teller.

The guy standing next to me shakes his head and shouts in my ear over the loud music "quiet night, isn't it!" I laugh with him for a minute, before taking my leave from the back of the bar. Out the front window, it looks as though the rain has eased up, so I pay my bill and make my way back out onto the street.

Blink. Okay this looks familiar... it's the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, the World's End Close end. At this time of night, in this weather, with the shops all closed until morning and so few people around, it feels sort of haunted. Like I can feel the souls and spirits of the people who were here earlier today, floating around me, having left a piece of themselves behind. Or maybe it's the medieval ghosts of people who lived here hundreds of years ago. Regardless, the hostel is closed and there is nowhere to take shelter, so I blink, hoping to be whisked away to someplace more hospitable.

No such luck. But I know this place well, so I walk up to the castle end of the street with the hope that I'll encounter an open pub. As I approach the castle grounds, I see a young couple by the high wall of an old stone building. They have the look of forbidden love, having stolen away in the night, like two conjoined shadows, like it's the two of them united against the world.

The couple walks away, holding hands, their laughter and whispers echoing through the misty air. Blink. I'm on West Queen West, in Toronto. Yes! If I can just find a streetcar to get me to the subway, I can get home to my warm bed. Traffic is quiet, so I cross the street nonchalantly and take a seat in the streetcar shelter. Just then, two hipster dudes appear and look at me as if I've stolen their bench. As if they discovered this streetcar shelter and I'm merely a tourist, squaring the place up. One of them pulls a Buddy Holly 8-track cassette out of his plastic bag. I smile. They roll their eyes at me so hard I nearly get whiplash.

I don't know how long I've been waiting for this blasted streetcar, but the hipster dudes seem to have glided away and left me to wait on my own, which  makes me worry that they know something I don't. Of course they do. I decide to try and walk east toward Osgoode Station and hope that the subway is still running.

I hear a commotion coming up behind me.  A group of friends who've obviously been out drinking are stumbling near. One of the guys is angry with his friend - the handsome Jekyll-turned-Hyde from the Dublin bar?! He's barely able to walk, or even talk, as he slurs his words, trying to form a complete sentence. His friend is pissed that his birthday is ruined - again! Every year, according to the Handsome Man's friend, this happens. The Handsome Man gets drunk and causes a scene and gets kicked out of every bar and ends up passing out. The Birthday Boy always ends up carrying him home. The Handsome Man seems like he's trying to apologize, but then he falls to his knees, and then falls again forward, his pretty face hitting the slimy pavement.

Leaving Birthday Boy and Handsome Man behind to live out this year's tragic pattern, I walk on toward the subway. But I blink and suddenly I'm someplace else. Damn. I was so close to getting home! I look around to try and figure out where I am, and suddenly it hits me - I'm in Trafalgar Square. I love London, but this is frustrating. I kick a stone and walk in the direction of a pleasing saxophone riff. I find myself standing outside of a pub with live music. I'm tempted to go in, but the place looks packed, and I'm enjoying the music from my standing room only place on the street.

The music ends and I walk on back toward the square in search of a place to sit. Blink. Oh for crying out loud, where am I now?! George Street in St. John's, Newfoundland. Oh thank goodness, some place like home!  The bars seem to have closed for the night, but if I can get to my in-laws house, I'll be safe and warm, at least for a little while.

I walk up Duckworth Street, trying to remember my way around.  I make a wrong turn and end up on Water Street. This feeling of sudden homelessness is wearing on me. Knowing that I may find a safe place only to be transported into another space-time layer, I just want to sit down and rest my weary feet. Then I hear the sad and somewhat scary sound of a man crying in a laneway.  The sound of empty beer bottles rolling on the uneven pavement punctuates the silence and the man's intermittent sobs.

I resign myself to my fate. I'm doomed to slide from time-space membrane to membrane for the rest of eternity. I'm a bit afraid I might find myself on planet Tralfamadore, but then, I don't recall ever visiting there, so perhaps I needn't worry about that.

Suddenly, I see a night bus hurtling down the street. Thankfully, I'm not far from the bus stop! I get there just as the bus pulls up. It stops, and I get on. Smiling from ear to ear, my heart filled with hope, I search my pockets for loose change, deposit it into the meter, and take a seat. I may not be going home, but I'm going someplace like it. I'm sure my in-laws will be happy to have me. I feel at peace. And then I blink.

I'm in Sydney Botannical Gardens.  I couldn't be further from home if I was on Mars.

I used to come walking here when I lived on Pitt Street years ago. I've never been here at night, and I'm not even sure guests are allowed to be here after dark. Still, I'm in no hurry to leave. Though it has recently rained, the moonlight glows and illuminates the trees. I sit down on a bench, close my eyes and remember how it looks in the day. I can feel warm sunlight on my face, hear the lorikeets chirping, and dogs barking. This is a happy place.

Suddenly, I hear the sounds of footsteps and the familiar voices of a couple of lovers out for a night walk. It's the couple I saw by Edinburgh Castle! They walk into the garden just as the fog rolls thickly in. They don't see me and I'm not quite ready to leave, but I can hear that they're now having a fight. More than a fight, it might be the end. They argue through the dense fog and I get up and leave them to their quarrel.

I walk out to Circular Quay. The fog, garden, and couple are now far behind me, but her sudden wail of emotional distress and pain cuts sharply through the fog, pierces my eardrum and stabs me in the heart. It's a cry of grief with the distinct sound of the end of love.

As I make my way to Pitt Street, the rain begins again. I look around but everything is closed. There is nowhere to go. I run up the street, hoping I can make it to the old hostel and convince them to let me in. I blink with purpose, hoping to be taken someplace drier, someplace near an open bar or shop. I blink. Blink. Blink.

I'm in Paris. I don't know what street I'm on, because I never did get my bearings over the four days I spent visiting here. But I know I'm in Paris, because I recognize the architecture - ornate white buildings with balconies, for eons in all directions. It's raining here too, but I quickly locate a 24-hour movie theatre and rush inside.

The movie is already in progress, and there is no one to stop me from going in. I sit down and try to catch up with the story, taking place in an exotic desert land. Thank goodness the subtitles are in English. I can't tell if the meaning is lost in translation, or if the film is trying to be serious and failing, or if it knows how silly and camp it is. I decide that it's self-aware and let myself giggle in earnest at the story as it unfolds charmingly and humorously. But why am I the only one in the theatre who is laughing?

The movie is over and the credits begin rolling. I'm content to sit here in the theatre while everyone leaves. They all have someplace warm and dry to go to. I close my eyes and try to fall asleep. Just then, the usher appears at my side and asks me politely in French to remove myself from the premises. I open my eyes to find that I'm no longer in the theatre.

I'm back on the anonymous street in any city, in any part of the world. I squint in the darkness, but I can no longer perceive the layers. It looks like my space-time travel adventure is over. Now if I only I knew where I was.

*****

After the increasing misery and melancholy that's been coming on over the course of the past couple of albums, "Heroes" has swooshed in to save the day and bring back some hopefulness. It's not all hunky dory (har har), but we all know that when things are on the upswing, one's sense of doubt can swoop back in and take us out for a play or two.  

I'm thoroughly enjoying this album. Note that I have no idea if Sons of the Silent Age is about hipsters, but that's what it made me think of, and I quite enjoy the idea of David Bowie condemning hipsters before it was cool.

Admittedly, "Heroes" hasn't gotten a full two weeks of my undivided attention - I took a wee vacation to New York City last week, which was seriously a lot of fun, but it didn't leave me much time for pondering this album. Walking on the streets of the Big Apple did inspire this story, however. Though it was my first time there, it reminded me of so many of the places I've visited before, and yet had a distinct quality all its own at the same time.

I may take another week with "Heroes" before I take the next step in this adventure... but I'll try not to leave this space unattended for too long!