I am on my way to work. Crossing the road, I see an accident. Three cars, one after the other, get stuck in deep potholes in the road. I go over to help. Mostly they are ok. A bit shocked. One guy is trapped. An ambulance has been called. I run to work and get blankets to help keep people warm.
I am in a hotel. This is work. I pick up some tokens and accidentally pick up President Ahmadinejad’s credit card. I only realise when I’m in the lift.
I return it, feeling like an idiot.
I am playing civilisation on my iPad, the interface is different. There are destabilising options like building nightclubs and developing recreational drugs. I’m trying to figure out how to develop more than one settler at a time from a city.
I look up. I am in Seabrook Road, in Newton Heath. My dad is sat in his usual chair, reading the paper. I think mum is in the kitchen. Then I remember she’s dead. Everywhere I look there’s a mum shaped space, reminding me how much I miss her.
I hold back the tears and sit on the back step. There’s a memorial bench there, with two crosses as cushions. The tears come, sadness mixed with anger at how my family abandoned me when I most needed them. I realise I need bereavement counselling.