“I’m sorry,” said a burley man, as he bumped into me on a crowded byway.
I stood up and backed into an open room away from the crowds, but was thrown forward to the floor by an invisible force. “What!”
“Careful,” said the strangely dressed man. “You’ll break the glass.”
The man picked me up, “Yes glass,” he said, tapping on the invisible barrier. “What are you doing, promoting a play.”
“I have no idea, what is this place.”
“Oxford Street. I assume you’re lost, here let me show you.”
From nowhere he plucked a black box and showed me a picture, all lines and squiggles and red dots.
“Here you are. Where are you going? I’ll set it up.”
“I’m here to see King Arthur,”
He tapped the black box, “Ah yes that’s on at the Odeon, just up on the left past the Virgin shop.”
“Uhh thank you.” I replied, a little amazed. “There’s a shop where they sell virgins, how interesting.”
“Sorry?” asked the man.
“Nothing,” I said making my way through the crowed market place, full of people in the strangest garb.
My last travelling spell had obviously transported me to a major town with all these people, but what were those big red square boxes, full of people, moving along the road without horses.
“What’s the matter with you,” said a young woman as I brushed into her. This one was dressed in more respectable clothes of a lady of the court.
“Sorry, miles away,” literally I thought.
“Love the outfit.”
“Outfit? Oh, you mean my clothes.”
Because of copywrite in fringements, you’ll have to buy the book once published to read more.