Sunshine: The Storm Begins
MK Ultra.
Psychic war.
EXTREME turbulence in the slipstream.
Tune in, kiddos, but be careful what you tune into…
12:05 AM, January 1, 1967.
Lower Haight neighborhood, San Francisco, California.
The Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows” emanates from a dilapidated house on an otherwise quiet street. The house’s windows glow with soft orange light. Darkness bathes the front porch. A match flame pops into life and illuminates the face of a prostitute named Sunshine as she lights a cigarette while standing on the porch steps.
Sunshine takes a drag, arches her back against the railing and exhales languidly into the night air. She can see herself perfectly in her mind’s eye, the way the curves of her body silhouette against the front door’s mesh screen, dimly lit as it is with the house’s interior light. She developed this ability to see herself from outside after years of walking the streets and broadcasting her services to wandering Johns.
Yes, she can see herself the way they see her, now — when she wants to.
She looks good tonight, too. She knows it. Orange polka dot mini-dress stretched taut over her wiry body. Hair freshly teased the way Elizabeth Taylor wears it.
Up the street two men stagger into a halo of streetlight, shoving each other around…
