Escaping With My American Dreamgirl


America. Visiting friends. I stay in a huge futuristic hotel complex. I meet a girl who loves me. She wears my new jacket. It’s too big for her, but she looks cute in it. It’s hooded, and dark blue, and fastens like a duffel jacket. We are out here for a wedding. I have to return back to England, for work. I tell her I could stay with her forever, marry her, never go back. I explain that I live in a converted church, and don’t go out much. We laugh. I decide to stay longer, take time off work, and see what happens. 
We leave a van full of her grandfathers possessions in storage, the sign warns us that they are messy. We take a donkey and cart and set off to her home, a few thousand miles away. It’ll be an adventure. I’m happy. 
By the futuristic hotel, I lose her as she checks us out. The cart becomes a green plastic sheet, and I glide along the sidewalk, donkyless, but still moving. I slide past junkies and crazy people. One guy follows me, repeating the same beatbox phrase, staccato beats as he slaps himself in the face, shouting at nothing. It changes, like a radio station, “that’s better”, he says, “I was sick of that damn song”. 
I know his old song will return. But slowly, he is retuning the distorted self hate of his past, into a harmonic future, of beautiful memories. 
The storage business shuts down. Timelapse. Things decay around an old, carved wooden bench for two. I know this object will bring young lovers together, unaware of their existing connection, ancestors who loved each other, and lost each other. 
Workers clean the building up. As they leave, they take mementos. A wig. A hat. A St Patrick’s day flag. A dark blue hooded jacket that fastens like a duffel coat. 

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