I’m in a bus. I drink hot tea from an open mug, and thank the driver for driving carefully. He hits a series of bumps, and hot tea scalds my nads, and splashes across my moobs. I swear at him, and we both laugh. I tell him I look like I’m in a wet t-shirt competition to seduce Elton John.
A festival of the past. Nighttime. I’m wearing a black suit. I climb up pyramid stairs, to a network of aerial bridges, unsure of the direction to take. A couple from the 40’s are heading to a ‘marvellous’ party. I head in the other direction. I meet people walking dogs. I say hello, protecting a friendly white cat from the dogs. Under a bridge, an old colleague, Gordon, sits under a bridge with his partner in summer clothes. I pass him some sequinned sunglasses and a pug dog that I think he has lost. They aren’t his.
A crowded shop. A friend and I discuss purchasing a glow in the dark inflatable boat. It’s £4500.
I live in a boy’s home. All the guys from work are there, in their uniforms. Jack has a gold Big Issue watch. We sleep and live in bunkbeds that tower up to a high gothic ceiling.
There’s huge meeting, with all the boys and staff. The staff are sending us away, and I predict many will end up in the nuthouse. Outside the meeting, I hear a boy complaining to a member of staff about a lack of support for his complaints of sexual harrassment. He’s been told to sort it out himself. I make a nervous joke that confuses Pele with pâté, and something about him taking a corner.
There’s a fundraising event for the home, and we are put on a coach to get to it. Obama will be there, and some of us will get the chance to ride in his car. We pass through Bristol, different from the one I remember, and I see a drunk man crash a back-end-half car into a shop window.
I’m older, and in some sort of care home. I sit outside, and watch TV screens that I can’t control, and other residents playing basketball or dancing around a private jet. I never join in. I just sit, and think about the toilets on nearby waste ground, where I could go to safely self harm. They are equipped with sensors, that measure your height, weight, and time how long you have been in the cubicle. If you are in there too long, it calls an ambulance, unlocks the door, and sends you an automated fine.
One day, a young woman passes, laughing and full of life. She reminds me of an old girlfriend. I suddenly feel very sad and alone. A man is cleaning the yard, I say to him,
“Can you help me? I feel very scared and alone.”
He asks if I want to go back onto the zombifying medication. I say no. I just need someone to listen to me. He says its part of his job to listen. He takes me inside,
He does not listen, just shows me self-help videos, on screens that I cannot control.
A bus journey. There’s a stowaway in the luggage compartment. I know she will cause deaths now, and later, in November. I draw my pistol, and approach the compartment. Others question my use of the weapon. I explain that she could be armed, I don’t know what to expect. My weapon isn’t loaded, but she won’t know that. I’m asked to wait, but I know I have to act.