Grip

'This is Guy. Strictly speaking cognomens aren't en vouge yet. But we're the elite here.'

It was Nathan

'M. Guida Pal. Cicero actually. Nova Roman you know.' The heavy gold bracelets spilling out from under his his thick hooded cloak said it all.

'I'm a guide too. That's what I've been doing for the last few years. Paving the way. There's a lot to talk about Jake.' Lauren looked guilty.

She handed me some wine. I gulped it. The mosaics were beautiful - Ancient Rome in Africa. Nathan, Guy, whatever his fucking name was, was watching me carefully. He couldn't stop himself from smiling.

'I've been waiting for this day for a long time' he grinned.

The full impact was starting to hit me. I was in another country, another time, in another body and the two people I thought I knew were giving me the distinct impression that what I knew was horseshit. This was nothing to do with drugs. This was serious. I finished the wine and demanded another.

Brown paper

Up Jack got and home did trot
As fast as he could caper
He went to bed
to mend his head
with vinegar and brown paper

I remember the smell of straw and animals. Background chatter and women crying. Laughing. Always laughing loud and at inappropriate moments. Panda called it 'pub laughing'. People were dying around me as I stumbled after Lauren. Shadowy characters, this was my dream.

I was dragged half-blind into a half-lit stone corridor that went down and down. The flicker of torches allowed the the odd glance to get my bearings. This was the underground connection between the amphitheatre and the main Roman villas in the the town. Smashed and rebuilt before Tiberius extended his rule into northern Africa. Somehow it made sense.

Max penetration

(Jake: 29 May 2003)

I’ve had that roundabout feeling again today. It must stop at some point so that I can get off. Even Jaz Man mentioned the carousel in his disappointingly, sugar-coated shit, non-hit wonder. I think it would be in my best interests to listen to more rock music. Maybe I’ll dabble with a bit of Slayer to pep me up a bit before I go out tonight. Fuck that, I need Sex Pistols. I’m feeling a bit anxious and aggressive for some reason.

I’ve arranged to go meet Nathan and Jonti in town later – just a few drinks to ease me into the weekend. I’ll probably get a bit sauced and end up leering stupidly at young women in the mistaken belief that I’ll take one home and neatly fuck her on my kitchen table for maximum penetration. Oh, I can smell the cheap perfume already.

I must get this down quickly. It’s all to do with Lauren. I had another dream about her last night – well, at least I think it was her.

Walking and talking.
Pitch dark, ruined amphitheatre –
like the one in El Jem.
I was walking in straw, crossing a courtyard
Fuck, I’m back here again
Shadowy characters, gathered in corners.
They were looking at us and muttering.
A fat man stopped me and asked me for a cigarette and, for some reason, I said: ‘Sorry mate, I don’t smoke’.
He knew I was lying and became demonic.
He chased us into a room with peasants rolling about on straw.
They were INJECTING THEMSELVES.

I panicked and woke up at this point. I’d seen the revolting fat man on the train.