Her Name Was Lola


I’m in camouflage. Walking in the rain. I pass an army surplus shop. It is closed. In the window, advertising for courses on building your own weapons.
I take the long route home, deliberately getting more exercise, and muddier. I meet up with J. He has had a big pay rise from work. I wonder about how I’ll do. I’m not good at bigging myself up. 
I head home. I’m staying in Barry Manilow’s house. He isn’t there, but his reclusive mum is. I never see her, but I’m aware of her presence. 
I’m in a virtual world with a friend. She adds boulders and fountains to the landscape, and sets cyclic movements and sounds for a seagull in the sky, as it glides its way past giant, static, human figures. I try to convince her to hide a penis in the design. I think it will be funny. She’s worried that she’ll be found out. 
I feel water on my face. Real water in a virtual world. 
A small man appears. He takes my hand. He tells me he is death, and that it’s time to go. I resist. He is not death, just someone wanting to remove me from my friendships and relationships. 
Out of the game, in Mrs Manilow’s house, I pack my bag, one of everything. I have to leave stuff behind. My friend watches a TV show while I pack. 
The show becomes reality. Robot tanks invade the snow covered gardens around the house. 
I can’t see a way out. 
☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️☔️

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