The dreams were powerful. Magenta lay, murmuring through her blood red lips, as images of a compelling man in black flashed in and out of her consciousness. Simon looked at her. Must be those onion sandwiches she ate so late before sleep, he thought.

But occasionally he could hear her mutterings, and she was not whispering about onions.. He caught occasional phrases such as "Bavaria" "Black nylons", "RH positive" and "sharpened dentures".

Rhymin Simon was burnt out. It had been a long, hard night and all he wanted was a good smoke. Chongo had done his thing, that freak in the Goth suit had pissed off, surely it was over now?

Simon went and rested his weary bones in the faded armchair. He pulled out his trusty bong, and lit up.

When would everything be normal again?