Neon Meatdreams Of A Octafish

James drinks deeply from his beer but never seems to finish it. Mine is barely touched- each swig seems to wash out a handful of teeth. Around us in the bar are people I used to work with.

“Don’t worry,” says James. “They’re as scared of you as you are of them.

As we walk down the alley that leads from the pub to the high street, I remember the last time I was here. It was the night of the bear attack. A lot of good people died that night. I think John Candy was one of them.

At the airport someone pulls a gun, but I know he won’t shoot- there’s no hole for the bullet to pass through. I recognise the gunman as Harvey Keitel. It was hard to tell under the clown makeup.  He walks up to me and starts acting out his scenes as the pimp in Taxi Driver, and I instinctively start doing the De Niro part.

I realise that my plane is boarding. “I’m hip,” I tell Keitel as I head towards the check in area.

“You don’t look hip,” he shouts after me.

James is waving at me frantically. “We’ll miss the plane!” He yells. I want to follow him, but I can’t go out onto the ice without ice skates, so I’m forced to stand there and watch him glide across to the other side of the rink.

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