The eminent author Dan Brown, his hazel eyes glistening in the early morning sunlight was woken by the chimes of England’s famed giant clock, Big Ben, a true testament to man’s dedication to engineering really big clocks.

With his hazel eyes he gazed over the manuscript sitting on the heavy antique wooden desk which was large enough to crush an elephant if dropped from a high enough height, say 160 ft, which in ancient Grecian times was a sacred number, arrived at when Plato got his students to drop a large wooden desk on an elephant.

Suddenly, he was being whisked to Rotterdam, aboard a train, a long sleek train. His handsome hazel eyes looked steelily out across the European landscape.

“Rotterdam, is, of course,” a passing train-bound professor of European history, “Europe’s only capitol to claim tulips and murder amongst its chief exports.” The professor handed Dan Brown, eminent author in his tweed jacket, a copy of Flann O’Brian’s “At Swim-Two Birds,” which is a commentary on the German occupation of Rotterdam, during which they plundered the magical lapis lazuli amulet of Astarfisis, a Zoroasterian goddess of fertility and plums. “Dan, you are our only hope,” whispered the professor in a tone that signified hopefulness, but at the same time no hope at all.

The eminent author Dan Brown flashed his hazel eyes at the professor and the view, though not at the same time. “I’ll do my best,” he said, sizing up the situation, considering all of his options and a brief tangential jaunt down a line of thought about the rise of the shogun in Japan.

I listened to the audio version of the eminent author Dan Brown’s novel Inferno. I really wanted to visit Florence, at some point during the reading, then I may have passed out and imagined Dan Brown’s Rotterdam trip.