Walking home with snowy. We take a new route. He’s excited as it goes past a yard where bins are emptied. We come out on a dual carriageway. Snowy nearly gets run over. He has no collar on, and I have no lead. We pass school pupils on their way home. People are drumming in a field. I want to join in. At the top of a hill, a decrepit market. Butchers stalls selling human meat. A large selection of human heads, some from clones.
I enter a tiny lift. There’s someone I have to see. It’s a guy in hiding, a drug dealer someone tried to kill. David Dickinson from cash in the attic apparently wants him dead.
Everywhere I walk in his small hiding flat, grass appears. I pause somewhere and trees and foliage cover everything. Like a weird green superpower. He gets nervous and grabs snowy, threatening to hurt him. I beat the crap out of him until he’s unconscious. Then I pour black pepper over him.
Going down, the lift is smaller, like a papier mâché coffin. I’m lowered by a crane, over a train station. I can see an alien being escorted. I want to help it escape.