Streets covered in peanut butter with pieces of bread jumping out of building windows. Wheat, oat-nut, white and rye. Rye? Why rye? Why not multi-grain or potato? Whatever… She walks slow because her feet keep getting stuck under bits of peanuts. Yes, the streets are cover in chunky peanut butter, not creamy. Toasters line the sidewalks waiting to get a hold of falling slices only to find that their cords are unplugged. She finds a butter knife sitting on top of the left spout of a fire hydrant. Finally she has the key to freedom. How many sandwiches does a person have to eat to get out of here? And where the hell is the fluff?