I feel water pull from behind my feet and seep into my shoe. A small stream runs over the smooth concrete ground. About 20 feet away an old fashioned bath tub is centre stage.
The water moves all around as though moving to the bath tub’s plug hole itself. Small pieces of plaster are pulled into the torrent.
After a slight jolt the bath tub begins to levitate and a small bowl of plaster begins to support it.
As if summoned by aliens the stream forms a waterfall, back through the ceiling and the bathtub and bowl follow it. The bowl merges with the ceiling. It looks pretty ugly but it starts to even itself out.
I turn my body and lean towards the bar as my legs catch the weight of my body over and over until I am slouched at a polished stone counter.
The bar man puts an empty tumbler on the surface. He briefly covers it with a silk sheet revealing a clear liquid afterwards.
I lift it to my lips.
Was I dressed like a vodka and tonic kind of man? It didn’t matter.
I go upstairs and outside since I am beckoned by the sort of fresh air that is better than water.
I lean against the wall and admire the reflections of the traffic lights then ruin the scenery with some cathartic littering.