I'm trying to get home, sweating under the weight of the outside world, when I spot someone I know heading in the opposite direction. I contemplate attempting to throw myself across to the other side of the busy street, but I'm just too tired to put up a fight. I try walking on oblivious, but my friend's enthused cries wear me down and eventually I have to resort to pleasantries and name dropping, walking along the high-street with my fashionable acquaintance, wheeling himself along within the fashionable confines of a Victorian child's pram.

Rollo Kim

A dull thumping awakes me from semi-unconsciousness. I unwind the insulating tape that holds the sponges that cover my ears: someone is knocking on my door. I wind my way through the piles of decay between my hiding place and the doorway.

"Hello?" I ask.
There's no one there.
"Erm..." I suggest.
Then an arm emerges, long and pale. At the business end of it, the 'hand' presents me with an offering: a can of Condensed Milk. Then the owner of the hand appears: a large, elderly man, naked but for a pair of swimming goggles and a small blue hand-towel.

"Merry Christmas," he says, wandering back to his own room, "dairy products make me feel weird, you have it."
"Thanks..." I say.

Rollo Kim

Happy? No? Yeah? Errr...

Rollo Kim