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Sixty


Bjork is staying at my house, except we are in the Simpson’s house. She is staying with me for complicated reasons involving her tour bus breaking down and me saying I have a ticket to her concert, which I do not. She is living out of bags, and is very untidy. She is also smaller than I imagined. One night, she cannot sleep, and comes in to my room to talk. I do not recall what we discuss, but at the end she lies down on the bed and starts singing. The song makes me cry. I stare out the window at clouds rolling by to try and hide this fact from her. Later we are outside the house, which apparently sits on stilts above a tangled semi-dark swamp, populated by the detritus of previous – none gone – civilisations. I tell her I don’t really have tickets to her concert. She knows this, and offers me £20.

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