In New York City? I am in a large, sparsely furnished apartment. It is bright and airy with a rustic timber floor. The Wu Tang Clan – in name only at this point, none of the members being familiar – are present. They inhabit a large IKEA square shelving-esque white unit. Each member is in his own individual square shelf, and any vacant ones contain a variety of lurid green snakes with white bellies and sneaky bulbous eyes. I am scared of these creatures, as I am supposed to be, as I approach the large unit. One snake eyes me suspiciously, gently shifting it's many coils. Are there dogs too?-
I am then confronting the whole Wu Tang group. They are massed in an intimidating throng in front of me, filling my entire field of vision, as I chuck them out of the/my(?) apartment. I keep wanting to berate them - the word 'belligerent' constantly in my mind (and on the tip of my tongue) – but refrain from doing so (out of 'respect'). We finish up outside where the unpleasant staring match finally dissipates and they head off in taxi cabs, leaving me alone (as requested) with the (actual) RZA-
He and I sit on some 'brownstone' front steps and attempt to trade mobile numbers. My phone, somehow reduced to a tiny, slender piece of fold-out kit, will not, to my absolute frustration, behave. I cannot even recall my own number nor seem capable of using the miniature keypad. I key in 07455 but want 07457 and cannot go back. To add to my annoyance some fans have begun congregating around RZA and I lash out, grabbing a Chinese fan and dragging him right up close to me-
I am now in a (Central?) park lined with green railings. I am being attacked by kung-fu experts. Suddenly the dreamescape pulls back, whizzing through the grass overlooking this scene to where Woody Harrelson is dispatching more henchmen in my direction-
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