Year: 2020

Them surround the place, them dey wait. Wait them helmet and them guns, and them petrol and them matches. Then suddenly, them dey break, steal, loot, burn, them break some some head.

They’re searching for Sunday. They’re grabbing the Comics.
Sex and sin, sax and violins; it’s hell: wooden heads, furniture with legs. For sale.

Last night I had that dream again. I dreamed I had to read the Comics, on a Sunday on another planet…and then I looked around, and there was this woman — she was making it all up, she was writing it all down.