This story, it's a type of story but then it's no story at all. Like all of my stories hey? 

You know what I'm like. All disconnected and faceblind, I don't recognise anyone unless I am familiar with what they are wearing, I don't recognise faces, I am face blind. Let me look at your coat.

No. Look at the clock.

I'm another victim of insomnia! Come in, sit down there, by the fire.

Your mouth is opening and closing like a fish, can't you speak?

Tell that woman to get out of here! Why are you yawning?

Shall I go?

You know she can't go out...

You need some faith, faith to get through this dark world safely and happily.

Your mind is always in a hurry, always trembling.

The street lights didn't come on?

You are so romantic, you have a love of colour, of beauty. But you are discontent in this world of dust and stones.

I could never live that close to NYU.

Being around college kids triggers my fear of lost youth and the passage of time.

Yes, like the train is almost at the end of the journey. You can feel the speed reducing, I think life is the same, a train pulling into the final station of your trip. But you aren't sure when you will need to stand up and disembark. 

Not yet, not quite yet.

Then look what she did.

She was in a kind of low loading, longish wheelchair type thing. She already looked dead to me, but she was groaning and moving around. Her skin was withered and grey, and then she fell out of the chair and onto the pavement. I saw her hands, they reminded me of a chickens feet.

Did you call the ambuance?

I did, I told them I was next to the church. Then the ambulance medic said it was too late, her lips were grey. So I walked  away and left her.

I met with Andy for lunch, we ordered food but the waiter said the restaurant was flooded so we would have to follow him. We walked through some badly lit tunnels. 

As we sat down, a man walked in with a rifle and grabbed Andy and placed the barrel of the rifle in his mouth. He threatened to shoot him. I don't know why. I was concerned about Andy's teeth for some reason, he has perfect teeth.

 Then he grabbed me and put the gun against my head and threatened to kill me but I wasn't afraid, I told him to fucking get it over with. I was waiting for the blast, the sound of the shot but it never came. He threw me against the table, stared at me in some kind of disbelief and left. The man told me to be very careful as he was headed towards the door, he would do it another day. I told him okay, see you later.

We ordered our lunch but I don't think it was very good. I didnt eat all mne, but Andy finished everything on the table.

Yes, like me he is a glutton. I don't waste food. You never know what may happen, you may be hungry one day. You were never hungry.

Fuck you! I had to steal food to feed my sister! I gave her dry porridge oats, Oxo cubes and toothpaste on bread! I could withstand the hunger pains, but she was too young to understand and would cry!

I'm sorry, I forget, you are such a tender woman I can hardly imagine that.

Yes..The food.. God. I survive on very little. It's like a kind of self punishment, self loathing, reminding myself of how things were. Like some kind of Charles Dickens novel. Very Kafkaesque.

It was only when I left the restaurant, I discovered the gunman or the waiter had stolen my passport. But screw it, there was only a few months left on it anyow.

I think he wanted us to sleep there, but the beds were so close together and I wasn't comfortable with that.

Me neither, and the bedding was cheap, I hate cheap bed linen.

You know, I told my girlfriend I'm broke, but I live in a 20m apartment and my family own a Gulfstream.

I know, I'm never sure what to do in those situations. Like walking around in a Rolex and a Hermes belt and accusing other people of being materialistic.

I thought the Rolex was in the wall.

It was, but I like to feel it, not to look at it, but to feel it.

The sun is coming out. I am thinking we should look for a Margarita.

Or six.

Do you think you should go easy on the alcohol?

I do. It's called daytime.

I love you.

I love daydreaming, but it's never like... Nice, you know? It's always like a nightmare. What do you call that?

Life.

Yes you're correct. It's cold, like a fridge in here, and I don't think we should be in here, there's no one here, we may get shot, this is not a safe place.

It's a church.

Then we definately aren't safe.

I noticed something about you though, it bothers me... You English keep your eggs in the fridge.

The French don't?

No, never. Why do you do that?

So they don't hatch.