Jesus Cheese With Cliff

Eating Jesus cheese with Cliff. 
I’m visiting a colony of artist’s flats. I leave my phone in one while viewing it. An old lady shows me around. The society is divided into five classes, five letters. Evenly divided by weekday births. People have the letter tattooed on their bum. The old lady has P on hers. She explains that the guru who created this place believes that creative people come in five types, depending on what day of the week they were born, but excluding weekends, as the guru maintains that no one creative is born at the weekend. She explained the letters thus: 

Monday – Ponedeljak, Bosnian,

Tuesday – E martë, Albanian, 

Wednesday – Nicto Kicikaw, Cree, atikamekw language,

Thursday – Illapachau, Quechua language, Inca

Friday – Shukrabar, Nepali). 
She explains how using days from different cultures encourages people to explore beyond the culture they were born into. I notice that put together, the first letter of each day, spells “PENIS”. 

I find my way back to the flat following the pointing finger of a statue, that becomes a small electric car, carrying me towards my destination, and a noisy cat animation that directs me down a stairwell. It brings me to a sun catcher on a tree, in the yard of the flats I want to be. A man with dogs gives me further directions. The old lady finds the number of the flat. I find the flat. The gay man, who lives there now, is moving out. He’s just got back with his two babies. He tells me there’s a year lease, not enough time to justify carpeting the huge industrial space. He tells me there are others to let nearby. I use the torch on his phone to look for mine, but I can’t find it. Near the flats there is a market/shopping centre. The creative people from the flats sell their works here. I think about sharing a shop with a friend. I wouldn’t want to be working in a shop full time. 
(I’m in bed with my girlfriend. Her sisters come in, and wrestling naked, chant a nonsense song about Twitter. “B-b-buddy b-bu-budy bub, Twitter.” It goes. )
I find out that the artists colony was set up by Cliff Richard. I sit with him while he carefully removes layers from a large, cheese sculpture of Jesus. We eat Jesus with crackers. I thank cliff for his Jesus cheese. 


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