The Lost Witness

I’m attending court. I’m a witness. I have a black bag full of stuff with me. Inside the court, people sit in the wrong places. Including me. The judge, the defendant and the victim all sit in armchairs, as do I. The judge has a young goat on a lead. It comes to me and licks me frantically, trying to suckle my thumb. I’m not required for a while. I walk around the block. A man carrying a valentines card with his cock hanging out runs down the middle of the road. I laugh at this with a passing Korean. “That’s Wolverhampton for you”, he laughs.

I return to the court through the wrong entrance. Security guards give me a lift in a single seat wide golden ford Capri.

They take me to the wrong place. We walk through a barristers Christmas gathering, all rich foods and black tie. I guide a blind man around. We talk about rich food and the pain of gout, and the usefulness of Braille on mixing desks.

We have lost our security guards. Outside, it is getting dark. We walk until lit rains. We enter a dark cafe.

I am outside, wondering why the other me is in the cafe with the blind man. I can see buses going by, and reason that I could ask a driver about buses to Exeter. I walk on, trying to access maps on my phone. The road narrows, and an old man stops to offer me a lift.



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