I’d ask myself, How did I get here? How did this happen? then remember, and forget again, and carry on like everything was normal, which of course it was.
What I missed, every day, yearned for, actually, was a British-style pork sausage. I dreamt of them. At least I think it was sausages I saw in my dreams.
It may have been my sympathetic manner, it may have been the badge that says ‘Cock’ that I wear on my lapel, maybe it’s Maybelline, who can tell, but Ido soon began to tell me scandalous stories about his busy sex life.
At the launderette, an elderly man took off his trousers, put them into the dryer without washing them. He sat on a chair and offered me a cigarette.
I notice a couple on a third floor balcony of the Royal Beach having sex. We watch the distant, bobbing figures for a while.
Then, shockingly, he said how he wished Hitler had finished the job he’d started on them.