I am at a gig with Steve. The band I dreamt of the other night are performing. Most have cartoon cardboard instruments. One woman plays cello.
We are with Ori and a crazy old lady who is supergluing things to our skin and suggesting clothes. She gives me an intricate tattoo on the back of my left hand. It includes a swastika and the phrase “rock n roll nazi”. I am wearing a jacket with a patch on of the same design. I worry that people will think me racist. The old lady insists that we will be the most interesting people at her party she superglues gold shapes to Steve’s face.
We are ushered to the door and told to be aware of wet clay on the floor. I thought they were planning to throw us out.
I am outside running. I have gloves on to hide the tattoo. I have difficulty with my right leg. I take a step and slide through the air, counting. I get to about 40 before taking the next step. I am running uphill with ease. I enter a building. I want water but there’s only a radiator pipe leaking oily water. I keep leaving the room, forgetting my scarf or shoes and having to go back.
As I try to leave, I realise I am in an Islamic women’s hostel. I am now in Arab dress and trying, unsuccessfully, to leave without being detected. There’s a young woman from Kyrgyzstan having sex in one room. She sees me and looks ashamed. As I leave I tell her to keep having sex, and that Allah likes it.