Drug free and dreaming

It's been exceedingly difficult to write anything of value lately. The days hours have been consumed by money problems, job hunting and needless time and petrol wasted navigating through the labrynthine streets of Sydney after having taken a wrong turn somewhere. Not to mention the trouble I've faced when attempting to draw myself away from 1984, which is a fucking great read may I add...
I've found that when I do have the drive to put ink to A4, my train of thought is derailed by the sonic boom of screaming children.

Anyway, I've been having dreams again lately, for the first time in many years, perhaps attributed to the involuntary detox program that thrust itself upon me when I left Melbourne... Whatever the cause, it's been amusing to stir in the morning with vague glimpses of a delusive, broken story swimming in my head. And after such an absence I dare say that even nightmares are a welcome intrusion to my Z's.

With that said however, since waking this morn' I've been pestered by fragments of last nights' dream that've abruptly poked in and out of the days thoughts. Like watching an uninvited rat shove its nose through a hole in the wall that it's trying to bore, yet not able to fit through.

Part 1

I'm surrounded by bright lights, like that of an operating theatre. My vision is seized with a blurred delay as I look about the backdrop.
Tiled walls. Linoleum floors. Institutional colours.
Off white, light grey and lime green, blushing under the intensity of the lights. I'd almost argue that it was a hospital if not for the frenzied sound of wailing children and the ring of cash registers reverberating off the walls.

Perhaps a supermarket. Perhaps both.
I've always loathed supermarkets as fiercly as the emergency room, if not more. So it seems fair that the two should bare comparison in my psyche.

The dreaded sounds are drowned out by something even more painful, a physical pain. Hunger.
Maybe I'd come to buy food... yet that intention doesn't explain my aimless strolling of the corridor, which I just now noticed I'm in.
My amble becomes more of a frantic pacing as time passes and the burning hunger is extinguished by a feeling of angst, as if I'm awaiting some bad news...

Had there been an accident?

No sooner had I realised that I'm alone in this miserable hall, Miss X, in mid stride, appearred out of thin air, roughly ten feet away. Arms crossed in an attempt to conceal the object she's carrying.
An air of relief washes over me at the sight of her and the thought doesn't occur to me to question her materialisation.

'Look' she kind of, half whispers, attempting to conceal the boastful sentiment in her voice. Her out stretched arms revealing more than what she's holding but also my motives for waiting and why I'd been so nervous.
A hand bag. Not hers... but stolen. I'd sent her to steal for us.

I feel no guilt however, not the slightest remorse in the obvious dishonest influence I'd wielded over her... but rather proud and upon opening the purse to see a thick wad of notes and a baggie bursting with in excess of 200 green pills, I'm impressed to say the least. Impressed and envious.
Like a Karate sensei, knocked to the ground by his star pupil, almost fearful of what I'd created.

My three friends who'd apparently been beside me the entire time, but until now had failed to announce their presence, appeared to share my enthusiasm and began giving her congratulatory back-pats...

"Sweet... let's get in the car" I said to them...

Part 2... next time biatches!