Psychic Bunny waited for the visions to come. He knew better than to force them. They started the same, like he was about to get a migraine, weird light patterns dancing in front of his eyes, then… Who knew?
He turned the lights off. The only illumination was from the orange lamp-light from the street corner coming through the slit in the curtains. He took off his jacket and tossed it on a chair, then sat on his bed. Bunny took a final puff from his cigarette, swallowed a belt of straight vodka, and laid back, his ears bending against the headboard. And then the vision washed over him—into him. He fought to remain Bunny, to remember himself, as the images crashed against his brain. His eyes widened, the future cracked open before him, and he started to scream…
—Richard F. Yates
(Primitive Thoughtician and Grand Hoohaa of The P.E.W.)