Sneaking Into South Africa

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.



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