My brother and his wife are gone.
Matt and Sandra.
Left me alone.
My screaming rage.
Why am I surprised?
You fly me all the way from Phnom Penh to London, Cambodia to England, and leave me alone with no money.
3 armed police march towards me.
Are you OK, Sir?
We had a report of a disturbance.
Sorry, I had an argument with my brother.
Do you have any I.D ?
I produce my passport.
Where have you come from?
And where are you going?
Another cop radios through my name and date of birth.
I don’t know, I say.
My home is in God, I say.
It’s the answer I always give to that question.
Right. Do you have somewhere to go?
I need to get into central London, I say.
The cop who’s radioing hands me my passport back.
I’m O.K, I say. I’m the new James Bond.
You’re the new James Bond?
Yeh, this is a movie. It’s being shot on the CCTV. You guys are in the new James Bond movie.
A cop radios:
Can we have a paramedic, please to Terminal 3?
I don’t need a paramedic.
We’re just gonna have you checked out. Is that O.K ?
Not a problem, I say. I’m not crazy. I’m fine.
Mr. Fox must be loving all this. Great for the reality, live cinema, crystal meth addict, homeless 007 movie.
I thought my homeless stint was over.
This is not funny, I tell Mr. Fox.
In my mind.
Like he can hear my thoughts.
I know he can hear my voice, bcuz of the mic in my head, but I know he can’t hear my thoughts.
That would be too sci-fi…even for James Bond.
This is not fuken funny, Mr. Coppola, I think to myself.
Mr. Fuken Fox.
The Paramedic arrives.