I got up early; June was still neatly folded on white sheets and the dog was reduced to map co-ordinates for an imaginary place. I caught the bus as a chemical formula and reacted with the peeling dawn, producing a very nice violet pink on the litmus paper of partially illuminated day. On a hill top I saw the man with graffiti on his head stumbling along a wiggly line painted on the pavement for this very purpose. I caught another bus in a rainbow thicket, sitting down just before the lady with a blank sheet of paper as a face - she smiled when I told her I didn’t have a pen with me. I met the old king in the room behind the counting house, we talked of back doors at the front of the house and the town sat in the navel of the post-modernist world. I came home with an old friend on the back of a dolphin.