Mr Singh and the Alien Invasion 

I’m with Mr Singh. We pass a shop, and his Sikh friends go in. Girls, distant relatives are inside. He tells me how hard it is for him to find someone. I say that they could convert. Not as if circumcision is required to become a Sikh. 
We climb into a trench of antique furniture, awaiting repair. Mr S lifts a man in a wheelchair over obstacles, and asks for payment for the wheelchair, which has been bid upon in an auction. The trench leads to a shop. Mr S is being creepy. Stalker like. He says he will take care of me. He insists the bathroom door is left open while I pee. I tell him I have to meet my brother. In my head I’m hatching an escape plan. I won’t be long, I tell him. He agrees. I wonder how easy it will be to escape. 
Now I’m in the shop with Mr S and my wife and kids. The kids watch tv on screens in the mirrored walls. 
We have to leave very soon. Everything is about to get very expensive. I feel weird. Drugged. The kids are behaving strangely too. I’m hallucinating. Everyone is. They seem happy enough though. I step outside. The sky. Full of strange banks of clouds. Snow has fallen, like giant polystyrene couscous. I remember. My wife and Mr S and I are together. In a three way relationship. Once they left me. It hurt me very much. 
My wife comes to the shop doorway. Her eyes, worried that I will leave. Abandon her and the kids and make my escape to the hills. I feel bad. I remember that feeling of abandonment. 
I worry about invasion. I worry about inflation. 
I worry. 
I look at the sky. 


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