Scissoring in a Submarine


I’m away somewhere. I’m trying to decide if I should go home or not. I sit in a museum, with my luggage. Through a window, I see a large, inflatable, yellow submarine. Inside it, through the portholes, I can see lesbian pornography being filmed. 
At the back of the yellow submarine, bored passengers stare out of the windows, and listen to a tour guide. The submarine moves off. 
I see Akira,dressed as a pirate, pulling his luggage along. I rush out to say hello, but he’s gone. Back in the museum, grey men meet in the room where I was sat. A grey blanket covers my luggage. I take my baggage and leave. 
I wonder if I have a ticket home, I can’t remember. I see MH trying to block a drain cover, while arguing philosophy with children. I sit on a bed outside. 
On the wall, awards from my work. A mask of Captain America, with Mickey Mouse ears, covered in tiny, white, swastikas. A display tree, with price tags arranged by size. I blow on them, listen, and realise, for the first time, that they are tuned. 

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