Nicholas Cage is a cowboy.
He has a horse, called Project.
As he walks up to their promontory home, Project looks at him, from his tree. The horse lives in the tree by choice. Like a goat. He comes down to Nicks call, plays with a giant ball, he has the grace of a cat, and the mind of a dog.
Now Nick is old and fat. He is an animal psychology professor. He hides in an adult playhouse, where Project the horse launches Pilates balls at him.
A chemistry lab. I’m helping others, students, deal with PTSD, and recent traumatic events. We have beer and tea, and I get them to bring things through from one lab to another. I’ll be sticking to tea. The Sound of the Sirens are lagging behind. I gee them along. Bandi Mbubi is there, and Ban Ki Moon. It’s good to see them. They are good men. I apologise to Bandi for stealing the students he was supposed to be talking to.
I am going out somewhere. I’ll be tempted to drink alcohol. I wear a hand knitted pirate hat. I’m tired. I can’t close my door. It’s off its hinges. I can’t even create a barricade from it, it flops over.
I’m explaining trap shooting to an American cousin. You shoot, and move downhill before shooting again. He suffers from a medical condition, monarchism. He has tiny scroll details on his earlobes. He explains his condition to me. He hopes I’m not offended, that it’s not his fault. I explain my colourblindness to him in the same words. He is amazed. No one has ever responded that way before, using his own, carefully chosen words.
He thinks I am the cool uncle.