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Part III: It is nighttime again, the moon is out in full, but I am no longer in the dream within a dream. I get off a red double-decker bus with my one of my partners-in-crime from high school, Adam. We are in the area that once surrounded the tower, except it's apparently been several years after the incidents in Parts I and II. Since then the tower and the surrounding areas have been discovered and transformed into a commercialized theme park. The theme for the theme park is shipwrecks, of which there are many littered around the tower, with stores and restaurants built into them. Thankfully, it being night time, there were very few tourists wandering about.
The tower itself had changed. It's once pale pine boards had been turned black from ages of sea mist. It was also broken in several places and crudely repaired with pieces of driftwood. The upper half of the tower leans so badly that huge wooden beams have been placed between the beach and the sides of the tower to prop the tower's upper half up, to keep it from toppling down.
We enter the tower. It's been turned into some kind of ocean themed restaurant with decorations on the walls like fish nets, ships steering wheels, the shell of a huge nautilus and other such things. We order lobster, red wine and black spiced rum, the drinks were brought in ornate, antiquated looking bottles. We get really drunk really fast and start laughing and talking loudly. Then we notice a window in one wall of the tower restaurant. It's a one way mirror, and it's looking in on some kind of orgy which is clearly going on outside the tower, on the "patio" section of the restaurant.
"What the fuck!" Adam cries out in surprise.
It is then that other patrons in the restaurant who we hadn't noticed yet, some of whom are with their young children, tell us that we are being very insolent. They demand that we leave. We leave without any argument, taking the bottles of booze with us.
When I get outside I notice that the park staff are wearing zombie make up and dressed in Nazi Secret Service uniforms. They're all perfectly in character, some of them seemed to be attacking the supports which held the broken part of the tower up. I ask one where the buses are to leave. He breaks character to tell me, then goes straight back into zombie mode.
I finally find the bus. The bus driver is a blonde woman from somewhere in Eastern Europe, probably Croatia, judging by her accent. She asks me for my I.D to prove that I'm "meant to be on this bus." I go into my wallet and produce a small flat figurine made of metal in the shape of a person. She apologizes, saying to me that she cannot accept this as valid identification.
I keep searching through my wallet, telling her that I'd find it soon, when I spied thirty five dollars on the ground, in one ten, one twenty and one five. Nonchalantly I put my boot over it to hide it and continue searching my wallet, handing her some credit card I don't own. While she examines it, telling me it isn't valid ID either, I lift my boot to grab the cash. Unfortunately it seems to have transformed into a pack of cigarettes covered in some form of Arabic writing.
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