Adam is walking for some time before he even realizes it, glancing at his watch as though--inanely--he might have somewhere to be. His steps aren't hurried, nor are they leisurely; only taking enough care to put one foot in front of the other and nothing more sophisticated. Though these streets are bare, they tell a story, and where there is a tale to be told Adam would be there.

Though he's yet to find himself uncomfortable, pacing dark streets alone, he feels distinctly as though he does not belong. What's more disturbing is how truly undisturbed he is as he goes about his rounds, as if he were meant to do so. Then again, he's no stranger to foreign memories. Even his own often felt removed and far away as though someone had shared them with him a long time ago and he had merely picked up the residual.

And that's precisely what this space is: residual. Even for a dreamworld, its framework is weak. A dream within a dream perhaps, or just some odd bit of whimsy conjured by a man who spent no less than 80% of his waking life in the clouds.

He knows before he does that this is Peter's dream; he's seen enough of them by now. And perhaps that's why it's with a certain confidence that he owns the space, callous to its rightful owner.