Last night I couldn't sleep. I got up at 4 am and started to finish off John Berger's - 'Another Way of Telling' I dragged myself through the pages of text, feet getting pulled down as if I was walking through some peat bog. Ironically enough I turn one page to be faced with an image of a man sleeping sat in a chair, his head slumped in his hand. I finish the text enjoy the 'visual essay' that followed and went to bed... this is what followed
"I remember my girlfriend sat in a room wearing these trainers that morphed and mis-shaped as she moved her feet to the music that played in her headphones. Her friend a man who was dark skinned, talked but in a deep American southern draw, I couldn't understand him I kept having to question what he said. I went into the bathroom a man stood with his back to me, I said 'you can't smoke in hear - it's a non-smoking building' he turned to face me, he looked eastern european, old, thin, dark hair - he mumbled under his breath in a foreign language. I urinated in a sink, but when I looked up it wasn't a sink, it was stirrups for childbirth. I looked down I saw what looked like an old cigarette. I turned and walked around the corner, three women stood. They talked about what was for lunch, they said a Carrot section was one split four ways. I woke up. "