I am on a train. It is Colin’s camp train. It is giving me a lift to Exeter Central, where there is a talk and lesson about train driving going on. I am in a open bed truck full of boulders. The weight is essential for inertia.
I climb down from the train and enter a ticket office. The woman beyond the counter is dealing with a phone enquiry. She finishes and answers another call. I am annoyed. Behind her I can see a poster for the driving lesson event, but can’t see Wolverhampton on the list. She serves someone else then leaves. I’m really annoyed. I wait and another member of staff appears. This one walks off without saying anything. I lay in a bed in the ticket office, with a cat and dog, waiting for his return.
An old man appears, and a huge queue of people. He skips to the next person. I shout at him, pointing out that I have been waiting hours. A soldier tells me to chill out. The old man looks sad. He’s not a volunteer. I ask if they are running a business.
I walk through Sandwell and Dudley with my mate Dave. We kick a hand made football.
I’m sad I didn’t get to drive a train.
I am in a car with friends. Hum is driving. We are driving from Moston, in North Manchester, across the nearby border into South Africa. I show Hum a map. We need to stay on St Mary’s Road and look for signs to a place called Mildred. Keeping the mountains on our right is a rough guide of our direction.
Hum mentions that we may need visas. I haven’t got one so I contemplate waiting at the border. We stop at a betting pub on Oldham Road. The owner knows me. I use the toilet, wondering how long it would be possible to survive on water from the toilet if there was a zombie apocalypse.
I sneak into a hotel room to sleep for a while. There’s a beeping sound. I have pulled the alarm cord on a pair of gold earrings. They are coins. On has a swastika embossed on one side, and Jesus with a lamb on the other.
I realise he room is occupied and sneak out, passed the owner, into the street. I walk across a Lithuanian bridge with a narrow footpath. I am forced to slow down by two women in front of me, who are discussing the merits of Dr Who animals, mostly cats and hyenas.
Behind me, a column of girls are in a Conga line, I am held at the waist, leading. Voices behind me urge me to pass. I shout back that we are nearly at the end of the bottleneck on the bridge.
I am sharing a hotel room with Sam Clarke. He’s at the hotel, and I’m trying to return a watch I stole without anyone noticing. It is powered by Refreshers, or possibly Berrocca, its hard to tell. I intended to pay for it, but I was kept waiting for hours in a queue.
I am sat in a cafe. A tramp on the next table is reading people at a distance through the palm of his hand. I unpack a crystal pyramid. It is filled with sea water and bismuth crystals shimmer across the bottom. I press my palm against the mans. He can see what I see, and compare it with his own view. He asks me what is there in sea water to make things red? I turn the pyramid slightly and the colour shifts to blue. He suddenly snaps out of it, apologetic and confused.
I am walking with two elderly gentlemen. One is asking me to work for him, carrying a meerschaum across Austria on foot for three months. It is in a leather case but very fragile. I accept the challenge.
I am trying to get back to the hotel. There are obstructions. Collapsed buildings and mountains of stacked soggy cardboard. I think to myself, this is the future.
I am in Barcelona. I am an assassin. I approach a man in a dead end. He is my target. I ask if he is ok. He has bad teeth. Juan, another assassin approaches. We give the guy paracetamol and Juan takes him to the nearest NHS dentist.
I walk into a paved square with sandstone buildings. Children draped in the English flag run past. The flags are burning. They sit in a large fire but are not harmed, I can hear them talking. I sit on the top of a grassy hill. In the distance I see that the worlds cities are on fire, but what looks like the end of the world is actually a festival. Below me is a festival food van called “The Dark Universe”.
It has become dark. In the sky, the moon is in three different phases, and positions, at the same time. I know this is impossible.
I meet President Obama. He hands me a hand-written dossier on my next targets. They are all fellow assassins. Juan is top of the list. At the bottom is my own name. I am to switch identities and kill the body I presently inhabit.
I think how easy it will be to execute myself. I know all of my habits and routines so well.
I am lucid dreaming. Three of us are on the way to see the president. We are being chased by assassins. The president is behind this but we don’t know until we get there. One of the assassins appears. He injects me with a dart. I don’t resist. I’ve had enough running. It’s an anastetic. I doze as he files down my teeth, to make identification more difficult. I am awake enough to grab a needle and inject him with it. This gives us time to escape. The presidents secretary is angry. I don’t like the steps in his office. We steal a car and someone else has to drive.
I’m in a school science class. A child wearing my work uniform is bullying me. I go mental and beat him and some other pupils and teachers with a stool. I then run down corridors and escape into a courtyard. There is a boundary fence, like you may find in a video game. I climb over and make my way along the leafy road beyond. From the top of the school someone is singing instructions. There are vines along the fences with poison needles, that pirates use for poison. I carry on. On my left are some houses. I enter the streets. It is twilight. Kerb crawlers in TR7s follow me. They are wearing orange gitmo jumpsuits. I open the door to one and the guy is writhing about, covered by plastic bags full of potatoes. That’s his fetish.
I return to my previous path. The path splits into two dirt tracks, and as I wait, a centre path appears. I choose this path.
I’m approached by a beautiful girl who kisses me. I want her. She says I have to be sure of commitment first. She takes me over to her older self. There’s a child. This version of her hates me. I feel terrible. I vow to myself to stay single until I’m absolutely sure.
At the end of this path are shops. I don’t want to turn back. I cut through a shop and across the back yards.
Climbing a hill, there’s a cushion with a map on it. Ahead is a train track. At one end is where I started, at the other is the finish point, a large mural of my face.
The track is patrolled by assassins and angry ex girlfriends with machine guns mounted in pick up trucks.
I can see that the direct approach won’t work. I cross the tracks and make my way through empty buildings. Hopefully I am heading towards the exit.
I am walking along muddy curved grooves with a group of people. I drop some musical weights which clang on the ground and split. Around a bend I see Mr Benn approaching, sporting a fine moustache. I have to get to him before the wrong person in my group does, I manage it and I pass him the weights.
We reverse away from each other and I’m singing a song in my head, “Mr Benn, has a friend, round the bend” which for some reason I find hilarious.
I am at work and a very tired manager is sad at my psychedelic message, believing it to be a coded message about the updated Apple TV that is coming soon. I disconnect my huge white phone, and look at a new version of Skype. It informs me that due to a change in Chinese fish consumption, tin cars from china will no longer have sharp edges.
I am cycling along a tow path with a group of elderly ladies. It’s muddy, and we turn back, conversing all the while. The towpath becomes a stone wall, and I am walking along it, jumping the gaps, and climbing down to cross a a busy road.
As I filter through the traffic, I see a group of reprobates emerging from the train station. I choose the other direction, and enter a medieval re-enactment area, where I teach children to shoot arrows with plastic coat hangers as bows, and using the hook to flick drawing pins the same distance.