Dream

Jon on motorbike attached by rope to Amanda's bike. It stretches out and I call after them 'It's not safe!', run from dad's side.
A motorcyclist spills over. I see a gun on the road. His beard graying in places, he removes his helmet. No damsel. Jon and Amanda are unhurt.

Inside McDonalds. A waiter is unhappy. 'Okay. I'll look forward to it. See you then. See you in London,' says Jon to him in his broadest posh accent, glazed jaw. All laugh. He reminds me of Mark Phillips.

As I enter McDonalds, I realise my wallet is not on me. I step back. Stallone is entering, his eyes tiny in his head. I meet Amanda and explain, outside toilet.

As I pay, Stallone places a finger on me as if he is inserting a suppositary. His finger holds. 'Thought you'd have some fun with the lady in the urinals, huh?' He approves.

Drinking at a bar, listening to rap, I realise I have not brought my music system with me in the move. I correct Liam's hand, turn the correct volume dial.

Dream

The woman was in the process of spoiling the film.
I left my seat for the cafe, where I left without paying.
'Must pay two livres,' I think. I return to my seat,
lights flashing. Only the credits.

The show had been terrific. Michael Keaton's slow steps
hamming the big showbiz ending.

I give in, enroll in the army.
I'm told, with biro lines on a map, my mission:
to pave a circular area with bricks.
Andy, my cousin, isn't overjoyed at this.
I head back to my room / urinal -
106, I have to pull aside the other numbered hangers to enter,
like trying to find a coat in a cloakroom.
It is unbearably narrow and compact, barely room
to turn my face from the grille.