Ten Step House of the Bellowheads

I am in a shared house. I live with a band called Bellowhead. My room is full of instruments, mine and theirs, I play a saxophone operated by dials, not keys, a brass section from one instrument.

There are kittens and dogs, that talk and love each other, and too many sofas, stacked oddly, like Eugene Ionesco‘s “The Chairs“.

It used to be a communal space, and people still want to congregate here, I’m tired, but can’t get them to leave. It’s late, and I have work in the morning.

There’s a small door by my bed, it leads to caverns underneath the neighbouring house. I wonder if they can get in that way? I wander about the house. It’s huge, and in the conservatory, tiny figures woven from grass reenact battles from the past in dioramas.

Outside, in a muddy park, a funfair sets up, local shops are full of the same generic fancy dress, I’m not sure where my new home, the Ten Steps House is.

I get back. The pets are pleased to see me. I ask a kitten if she has read Felidae. We talk about the cats extra sense. Everyone is so friendly.

It feels like home.



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