I am sharing a house with Tina, a girl I knew at college. I am creating some music. Struggling for lyrics, I cut up an article about Manchester. In the next room, a tall figure materialises. It’s the anthropomorphic representation of my creativity. He is a tall, spindly giant. His cranium is distended, and filled with ever changing glowing clouds of light.
We meet in the doorway. I am afraid. He looms over me, and for a moment, evil thoughts flash across his mind. Then he turns and touches a wall. It has a hidden door in it. Telepathically, I realise a future genius me has come back in time and altered the house before we moved in. Behind the door, narrow steps lead up and down. My genius descends. I squeeze my way up, thinking how much thinner the future me must be.
At the top of the stairs is a room on a bed, notes from myself. A tent for romance. A control room for my own emergency services. I am invited to bring in whoever I want. They are already there.
I am a student in a shared house. Our back door is constantly open. Other students use it as a shortcut from campus. We have a cat. I pour it some dusty dried food. I add water. The cat submerges itself in the bowl, eating underwater. I add washing up liquid and wash the cat.
Students walk through our house. A constant stream.
A mother and her daughter arrive. The daughter is going to university soon. She’s black and very beautiful. We chat about the uni. They leave, heading back to Solihull. I kiss the daughter. She likes me. As I head back inside I realise I didn’t get her number.
I exit by the back door. The university grounds are amazing. Beautiful rolling hills.
I wander off to explore. I get a little lost at a large junction, and can’t see my way home.
My boss appears, and offers to take me back to work in the Trafford Centre. I just want to go home.
I wander down a side street. Behind me, plywood walls appear, and a Shakespearean actor says “Act 3; Scene 2”.
He begins to perform. I push past him and push down the plywood wall behind him. There’s another actor there, continuing the performance.
This happens again and again. Plywood becomes plastic, and actors become artists.