Locrian Mode

I have a flat, but inside I still feel homeless. I wander around run down dock areas, talking to lonely old men in dive pubs about bridges controlled by hydraulic air pressure. 
I stay in a large building divided into bedsits. I don’t use the toilet, but choose to shit into a laundry basket. There’s a chance to move into a slightly bigger crappy bedsit, and I’m excited about it. 
A friend invited me to watch a film, with a woman who’s job is to provide us with support. We sit on high stools, and a story unfolds, of three saxophonists duelling with swords, working in technology.
One of them solves a wooden puzzle, attached to a classroom wall. It’s shapes are an encrypted tune. A song about raindrops. Music plays, and I can only think how much better the bassline would be in Locrian mode. 
I’m in a supermarket with friends. A child is ill. I steal the medicine he needs. Healthcare should be free. Inside the mall, an artist slides around inside giant sculptures of hands and dinosaurs. Cooking oil on the feet acts as lubrication. 
I grab a tail and slide with the dinosaur, childish fun to relieve my adult sadness. 


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