The Price of Change


A friend is being threatened. He opposed developers, and came home to find everything taken, even the carpets. Someone tries to poison him. I suspect a girl he works at a bar with. Her family are builders. She used rock salt as a poison.

I look for clues. I pass through different rooms, with different dance lessons. Disco, salsa, a children’s group lesson with an evil teacher destroying creativity and making them conform.

Outside. A rocky landscape. Tiny blue plants, like flags, flutter in the wind. Many explosive substances here. In the distance, a giant round house, alone on the plain.

I follow train tracks. A mining train speeds past, the sound of Zulu songs. I’m nearly run over by a car. The railway tracks enter residential streets, dusty with the sands of the rocky desert. I talk to a man. I demonstrate how explosive the situation is by demolishing the tower of an ancient castle.

I’m back at the bar where my friend works. Some old guys come in. I’m glad to see them, at least I’m not the oldest anymore. I try to tell my friend about my concerns that his workmates are poisoning him.

Myself and Jef re-enact comedy scenes from a show with James Turner as a character. Derek Nimmo is laughing with us. A woman offers me drugs. Β£2.80 she wants for a pill. I have about Β£1.60 in change and a Β£20 note. I give her the note. Others blag theirs for free.

I receive my change.

If you don’t pay the price, you don’t get change.

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