I am counting the money. It is in £35 notes. I am counting the money. It is orange. It is a lot of money. I do not know why read has given me so much money for a 16 minute performance. It is in a strange boat and I worry that I will miss the plane. Haris is there under a blanket. His parents are worried about unscrewing the extractor fan. Noone cares about grandmother who has just arrived in a golden taxi. I am counting the money. It is a lot of money. Too batches. One is about £1000 and the other notes. G did the same piece but got paid less, so I am trying to hide the money in the drawer so that he does not see it. I am sure he will make an argument about gender equality or something.

Then something else happens. I make out with a toilet. No, I actually make out with the sign of the toilet. The toilet sign. The one stuck on the door. The door sign, yes, I make out with the toilet door sign. The sign is not of a man or a woman, is that of a baby! I make out with the toilet door sign of a baby! Then I feel embarrassed and I decide to cover the two signs with white photocopier paper, hug my pillow and fall back asleep.