Brighton. A dream-Brighton. It is night. In a place that feels like the tangle of streets by the station - or perhaps New England House. A madman with a violin is crouching on the ground, full of aggression. There is a woman here too. I am not sure if I know her.
The madman with a violin is unhappy - muttering to himself - we must escape him. We find ourselves in the darkened rooms of a building that make me think of some cheap hotel decades ago - red carpets and stairways and claustrophobic corridors. I suggest to the madman with a violin that perhaps it would be a good idea to turn his unhappiness into a song. This makes him more furious. He is going to attack us. I run up the stairs - then down the stairs. He is following me. If only I can get him to attack the woman - he can only follow one person at a time.
***
Brighton, Entering a pub. Perhaps the Evening Star. Sarah is in there. I do not want to go in and leave. I am unsure if Sarah has seen me.
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