A Visionary Tale
an excerpt

As their brightly lit heads floated lazily over their dimly lit booth and they enjoyed the flavors of the foods which were clearly indistinguishable by color, conversation turned to thoughts of love, the love of freedom, the love of environment, the love of freedom from bill-collectors. Dillon was not sharing any hints of a plan with Sylvia. He was just daydreaming in this artificial daylight superimposed on the combined real and artificial night below the neck. Sylvia in turn was starting to relax about how she would defend herself from the possibly wolf-like impulses of young masculinity as Dillon had not made any moves on her, and seemed to be talking in an entirely different direction.