The Mortal Vampire

I’m at outside with friends. We have a large box of Kellogg’s cornflakes. On the next table, pigeon fanciers chat. We begin to discuss pigeons. Could they deliver a box of cornflakes? My friend uses the phrase ‘mortal vampire’ to describe them. I like that phrase. 
My friends spot a pretty woman over my shoulder. I look round, and realise I know her, as I pluck two very long hairs from my moustache. 
She says hello, and we kiss. I make introductions. She walks off into a school building. We follow. I cut through a corridor into a balcony, and down some stairs. We hide in a toilet to avoid a crazy drug taker. He comes in anyway. My friends flee. I shake his hand. He thanks me for saying that his voice sounds like the Dalai Lama’s. I walk with him a bit. He sees my friends running away, and sprints off to catch up with them. I don’t fear him, I realise. 
I pass a kid lay on the floor wearing a Mario hat. Another kid stops, mimes inserting money into an arcade machine, makes a game noise, and Mario springs up. 
I walk into an airship, waiting for take off. I’m wearing my Dakar Audio Club stage gear. The business men inside are afraid of me. They are terrified the crazy drug guy will get on board. The pilot plans to leave early. I ask him to wait, my girlfriend will be dead on time. He takes off. 
I’m now in a taxi. The violent driver offers to take us to several unsuitable, violent, places to stay, until the cancelled flight takes off tomorrow. He’s a racist. I grab his knife and threaten him. He doesn’t listen. I slash across his right eye. I have his attention. He nervously pulls a blank firing pistol. He stops the car, and I grab the pistol, shoot by his head, and throw him out. My friend takes the wheel. 
We continue. I think I should learn to drive. We stop at a house. I sit outside with friends, making hideous collages of politicians faces. 


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