Moon Gibbon

I have a gig at a hippy festival with 4 of 7, a Children of the Drone offshoot. 

I am badly organised. I lose Keith’s keys. I worry how he will find them. I have to get home, pack my electric double bass, and meet the guys at the festival. 
I am in a strange, ramshackle house with people from work. I can’t remember where I left my bass, or find clean pants to put on. The guys have a soft toy monkey CD player. He’s called Moon Gibbon, as a cd with Moon River on is stuck inside him. 
I walk from a beautiful bathroom along a ruined corridor. There’s a covered balcony, and outside a storm is howling by. Across the street, I see a couple having sex in a window opposite. The storm is their passion. 
I get to the festival. I am very stressed. I try to call people, but the interface on my iPhone has changed. It won’t let me search, or use VoiceOver to make calls, and animal noises and scary voices come out of it. 
I ask a passerby for help. They all seem aggressive. I can’t be sure, as I think I am hallucinating. 
I’m late. I meet Ren. He helps me. I’m still hallucinating. 
I navigate the stalls at the festival, men in golden jackets sell golden shoes. 

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