The Inn

I’m at a gig with my girlfriend. Hawkwind, I think. I go to get a drink. The SU bar is busy, so I walk to another nearby bar, along a river. It’s further than I thought it would be. I get tired. I may be drunk. I go home and sleep. 
I wake up and go back to the bar. I need coffee or tea before going into work. I sit at a table for a long time, trying to decide. Next to me, a man in a white shirt whistles a tune that reveals his Naval past. 
I decide on coffee. My girlfriend comes in. She pays for the coffee. She’s been worried about me. She shows me CDs that she’s bought for her kids. 
I’m at home. It’s a huge converted warehouse building. Some kind of performance is happening. I need a break. I yell “pause” as if it is a hologram. It’s not. Real people walk off to get refreshed, while I go to check my front doors. I left them open. Open onto the dark side street where I live. I close them, but leave them unlocked. 
Back inside, I enter a new room. 

The Inn is here. A Christmas scene. George Clooney looks for his wife, in the aftermath of an outbreak of mass schizophrenia. He searches the area. The Inn has exploded, modern rebuilding surviving where the original structure is lost. He hears voices, sees people. He can’t be sure what is real. He tries to fly, rainbow chemtrails follow him. He crashes in a field. 
A hand on my forehead wakes me. A nurse. I am Clooney in the field. The nurse is gentle. He guides me down some steps, to where my girlfriend waits, in a wheelchair. 

She’s very thin. She can communicate, and add up, but part of her mind is gone. She remembers me. I’m so pleased to see her. 
I’m driving away from the Inn, my girlfriend in the back, off to start a new life. Behind us, a huge Santa head laughs in the sky. 


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