Section 1
A damn fine cup of coffee, black as midnight on a moonless night. Diane, the owls are not what they seem. I have no idea where this will lead us, but I have a definite feeling it will be a place both wonderful and strange. She's dead, wrapped in plastic. The secret diary of Laura Palmer is a shadow self, a story told in the rustling of the sycamore trees.
Section 2
Every day, once a day, give yourself a present. It could be a new shirt, a catnap, or two cups of good, hot black coffee at the Double R Diner. Albert Rosenfield has compassion running out his nose, pal! This is a Formica table. The gum you like is going to come back in style, said the Man from Another Place, dancing in the Red Room.
Fire walk with me. The pain is a fish in the percolator. Leland Palmer is dancing again, his face a mask of absolute terror and strange denial. Audrey Horne dances to a song of her own design, a troubled girl in the grand old Great Northern Hotel. Sheriff Truman knows there's a sort of evil out there in these old woods, something very, very strange.
The Log Lady knows that her log does not judge, and one day it will have something to say about this. How's Annie? It is happening again, an echo from the darkest nightmare, where a green ring is a ticket and a doppelgänger waits. Gordon Cole is shouting about a small Mexican chihuahua, but the truth remains in the scent of Douglas fir and the silence of a forgotten sinkhole. The future is the greatest gift one human being can give to another, but some tragedies cannot be undone. It is time to wake up, isn't it?