Maybe Pottsy knew more than she was letting on. I resolved to go and interrogate Pottsy, perhaps she knew of the spandex clad guitarist, perhaps she knew of the Dyson factory and what secrets lay within, perhaps she had a decent razor.
I tossed the blunt razor into the bin and, within a few minutes, I'd stopped bleeding. I wasn't exactly clean shaven, but it would have to do.
Dressing quickly, and checking my trusty '45, I loaded it up and put a couple of spare clips in my jacket pocket.
As I left the motel room, I stopped and, as an afterthought, went back to my bag and drew from it the double cross-bow placing it inside my jacket with the spare clips for the Colt and the throwing knives I always carried.
Outside the streets were strangely desserted - whipping cream, and hundreds and thousands littered the street and many of the doors of the houses were covered in jelly.
'Hmm, that's a trifle bizarre', I thought as I headed off to 'Joe's' to locate, find, interrogate and soften up Pottsy.
'STOP', I thought... Whipping cream? Trifle? Why is that flock of birds flying sideways and changing colours? It was happening again. I was in some kind of dream state again. Nothing was real. Well, the knots on my head sure seemed real. Okay, strike that, nothing was rational. I stood there in the middle of the street and closed my eyes. I relaxed for a few moments and emptied my mind. I then slowly opened my eyes again. The improbable birds were still there as was the dessert motif of this part of town. But something had changed. The gingerbread warehouse across the road had a very normal looking steel door in the side of it where only moments before there was simply a plain wall, albeit a gingerbread one but otherwise featureless.
I headed for that door. The questions surely lay in there. I wasn't ready for any answers yet. When you realise you are existing in the middle of irrationality you have to start off slowly.
Upon entering the gingerbread warehouse I knew I was now on the right track. Well, I wasn't exactly on the right track, I was on the platform for the right track. The inside of the warehouse was a station. A London Underground station, to be more accurate. It was an underground station that looked to have been closed for at least 5 years by the looks of the layer of dust on almost every surface. The only clean surface was that of the bench against the wall under some posters reminiscent of the mid 70s.
I sat on the bench and waited. If something rational was going to happen, then I was going to let it come to me. Every time I had gone looking for trouble I had found it so far. This time let it make the effort.
I didn't have to wait long. I could hear a train coming for nearly a full minute before it arrived. It was sparkling clean and only had two cars. When the doors opened I got on and sat down inside. I had thought the car was empty when I entered, but now that I was seated I saw that there was someone seated across from me.
This was definitely the most indescript person I had ever seen. I couldn't tell if this person was male or female. Blue jeans, sweater, duffle coat. Medium length hair... sort of blond, sort of brown, maybe black. This person could be thirty or they could be eighty. This person was so 'average' looking it hurt my eyes. It wasn't that his or her (hir?) appearance was changing exactly... it was that it was not registering in my brain for more than a second at a time.
I was just about to ask 'who are you?' when this person spoke.
'I am nighthoover... I'm glad to see you've finally found me....'
Written by 'various'