We ghost through the lives of the Swiss. We brave the bridges of Basel. We read to the ghost of Hugo Ball at Cabaret Voltaire in Zurich. We somehow stay alive on fondue and chocolate bunnies. We go to a fashion show wearing clothes that are rotting off of our bodies. We listen to a petite fille play her viola in the living room. We are the only ones not smoking. We dance to a DJ wearing a muumuu. We blow the fuse. We defrost the refrigerator. We promise not to touch the fairies. We eat raw bacon. We pile the orange peels at our feet. We vibrate for ten hours on the autobahn to Berlin in a clown car with a trunk full of long poems.