HIGH

Knocking? Who could be knocking at this hour? A clocks tiny green digital numbers glow above the TV set, the reading just a blur. The TV is muted and figures scurry back and forth in frenzied pandemonium. Andrew slowly rises from his chair and answers the door.
“Yes?” In a rather tiring voice, not that he’s tired. Just boaring. Two people at the door, one of each sex. Didn’t say anything, just walk right on in and unmuted the TV before sitting. They don’t speak, nor offer anything like enlightenment, just sit.
“Oh. Hi,” Andrew managed. “I’m, ah, Andrew,” He’s not suprised. This is probably just one of those loony dreams where you dream something like this after dozing off. So he smiles, closes the door and then he’s off  into the kitchen.
Sounds of the TV waft through to him, as of course they would, since the TV’s in the same room as the kitchen extension. He stares over the bench at the duo who are engrossed in the useless display, as if they hadn’t seen anything like it before.
“Yeah, and also coming up on After Three, this morning, find out how an angry businessman held up a corner shop with just one magnetic number plate. But right now, sit back and let the Toni Glasconson Experience relax your entire soul. Over to you, Toni.”
“Thanks there, Erwin. Hi everybody, this is Toni Glasconson with this weeks stimulating corneal exercises...”
Typical TV for a Sunday morning at 3 am. Trash. Junk news that they probably read in People. Or Plain Truth. Or make up from extracts from Reader’s Digest. Stuff like this always  sounds like news to lots of people because they read something about it in The World’s Most Read Magazine: Over 17 million copies in 27 languages, and all that. Trash.
“’Liz and Fred.”
Names? That’s odd, for a couple of druggies or winos or retards on a spree. Losers, perhaps. Just siting, watching TV (with the sound on) and looking really happy too.
“Coffee?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“White or sugar?”
“White, saccharine if you’d got it.”
“I said I don’t want any.”
Andrew pours hot water into the brown powdery stuff in the bottom of two mugs, then adds a bit of milk and saccarine (he too liked the stuff). Then he takes the cups out and places on in front of the man, Fred. Man, some dream. Drinkin’ me coffee and all.
“You here long or just passin’?” Liz askes, taking Fred’s cup and drinking some. “Hot, ’s stuff.”
“I live here.”
“Oh,” She seems unaware that this she and Fred had walked into this house, not that Andrew had intruded upon their privacy. “So, you’ll be here a while, then? Yeah.”
“Lives here, Liz. Like, owns the joint.”
“I don’t own it. I rent it. With a friend. He’s not here now. He’s gone down south to visit his Olds.”
“Live here and don’t own it. Oh.” She states. Fred takes his coffee from her and drinks lightly. “Yeah. S’hot, right.”
“Where you going?” Andrew asks. “Like, are you two passing through or just out or what?”
“Going? Man, we’ve been everywhere, now we are going to stay.” Liz replies, as if it were the most simple thing to understand.
“Oh,” Yeah, some dream. If this were real... “Well, I gotta get up in the morning and so...”
“Yeah, goodnight,” Fred offers.
“Where are you going?” says Liz.

 Fred is sitting at the table still with Liz, talking about god-knows-what to do with some newsgroup sex thing. It is the morning still, but this time it is light with the sun already established and Andrew still wondering what the hell these people are doing in his house. He figures out that he hadn’t dreamed the occurences of a few hours earlier and decides to remain calm and boaring.
“Yeah.” Liz was Liz, still. No brain in her head, just a mouth and eyes and all the other stuff. Andrew was eating his cereal and still staring at some hard-to-see green digits on the clock above the TV, which was still going but with muted sound. Finally he gives up, knowing that he didn’t need to know the time anyway. He knew he was late for nothing and so didn’t worry. He was doing quite a bit of not worrying.
“Where you going?” He ventured, knowing the answer but trying anyway to get the others to talk about something other than bondage with hamsters.
“Going? Man, we’ve been everywhere, now we are going to stay.” Liz. Nope, nothing. Just like a broken record player too. Just keep repeating it over and over and over...

Then the door bursts open and in stumbles somebody else that Andrew has trouble finding a name for. He and his little dog, a stupid looking browny mophead of a thing, follow the exactly same path that Liz and Fred had taken: Unmute TV and sit. Then Andrew does his coffee bit without the saccharine this time and goes over the scant conversation with him. Finally, after only seconds of silence, Fred and Mrs Einstein (that seems like a good name for her) start up conversation. They do not know this fellah either and soon the sofa is in uprourious silence again. Well, they had found out that this guys name is Bill. Nice. Here he is, Andrew, surrounded by people with one syllable names and one syllable brains. And he doesn’t, basically, give a shit.
When night comes, the house seems full. What, did he have a sign out the front that said ‘Hey, come in and meet absolute strangers and live here too, but only if your name is real short.’ The house is full of people and devoid of thought. Bill and Fred and Liz and Jan and Bob and Gen and and and. The list goes on. The TV has a fairly good day. Recieves a good bout of attention then non attention then somebody else arrives and receives a bit more attention et cettera.
Andrew is now sitting on his sofa with x number of people he doesn’t know. He is out of coffee both caf and decaf and saccharine and milk and sugar and food and everything else. Probably toilet paper and tissues and all those little obscure things like toothpaste boxes and baked beans and those little fluffy balls that go inside his bean bag and- everything.

The he says “Hi, I’m Drew. Outa coffee. TV there. Have a seat.” Notice he has dropped the ‘An’ from the front of his name. If you can’t beat ’em...
“Andrew.” It’s his Flatmate, rentthingie and all that, Nicholas. “Remember me, Andrew? I am Nicholas.” He is extending his hand. There is nobody else in the room, just Nicholas and Andrew.
He is waving as if to check whether Andrew is awake or not. “Me, Nicholas. Nic.”
It is now that Andrew who is again Andrew, not Drew, flees.