The Stand Up’s Girlfriend

I’m walking into town, thinking about cutting through a school, to get to a corner shop. A woman in a veil walks into me, I think by accident, until she dies it again, and speaks to me in Arabic. I explain I only speak English. Her name is Solqheen. She is originally from Tblisi, in Georgia. She chats to me about going to see her boyfriend doing stand up comedy. As she talks, she removes her veil, underneath she wears a short black velvet dress, and is all done up for a night out. I walk down to the gig with her. I’m not sure how much it is, and I don’t have much money. 
I cross the road, and hold open the door of a police station, shoeless. Police file in, waiting to judge some new recruits. One recruit plays a toy trumpet, another came 3rd in a statistics competition. I put on my shoes and leave. 
I’m inside a factory building, holding onto the back of a driverless Landrover, trying to stop it as it rolls down a slope, into a flooded room with water containers everywhere. I comes to a halt. My legs ache from the effort, and wading through the water. 
I’m trying to access files on an old mac. The images and videos are stored on microfiche film, and soon melt and set on fire. We throw it outside, but manage to retain some data. Solqheen flirts with me. She’s trying to make someone else jealous. I put my arm around her and hold her close. We try to decipher an enigmatic poem in a frame. 



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