Hypnotic Accordion Postman


I am in an Irish bar. A man plays Que Sera on the accordion.

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Sam is working as a part time barman. He spends most of his time chatting up women. He tries to convince me that Guinness is £5.25 a pint. I tell him we aren’t in London. Our friends come in for a bit then leave. Sam leaves with them. 

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I am talking to a group of women. I demonstrate how to fix someone in a chair using the power of suggestion. Then I explain how we limit ourselves everyday with our own suggestions that we are not good enough, pretty enough or smart enough. 
 
Peter the Postie comes in. I haven’t seen him in years. He still talks nonstop. He looks run down, and like he has been stabbed in the upper chest some time ago. Dried blood cakes his shirt. 
 
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He’s here to do some training. He keeps treading on my scarf and dripping blood on it. 
 
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