I am hesitant about using words like ‘energy’ in the context of Monfeld. They are so nebulous you can use them to prove pretty much anything.
However when you get reports like this, it is hard not to think that something radiates from this place. If such everyday objects can get affected, then so could anything.
As always if you have any questions please let me know, and I can send them through.
No one cares anymore. But in the day, if you wanted a night out, you had to wear decent clothing. Forget your smart shoes and collared shirt, and you might as well walk home.
This did not mean that you had to spend money. We always went to the discount suit shop. The kind with permanent ‘80 percent off!’ posters stuck to the wall.
You had your smart shoes, and your smart shoes. Your smart shirts and your smart shirts. One for weddings, and one for going out. Pick up some cheapo stripes and brown leather, and get out drinking.
The shop was close to liquidation when Monfeld shut down. It was moribund in a world of smart trainers. But I still liked to pop in occasionally, and think what would have been good outfit choices in the day.
I had chugged down three cans before breaking in. The alcohol reminded me of those knocked down prices, and I pushed the stiff door open.
Technically the clothes are still unbelievably cheap, as you can take what you want. Any remaining items had a layer of dust on them, but I found one that had the same diamond pattern of my once favourite shirt. I had to try it on.
The shirt was three sizes too big. Remember that.
The top button clenched around my neck. A common sensation now I had put on weight. But this was like piano wire around my throat. I clawed at the button now welded to my throat, any concept of breathing an impossibility.
My lungs were desperate orbs of pressures, looking for release that did not exist. I collapsed forward, and dragged myself along the cheap fireproof carpet to the door. Everything took on a pink filter, and my heart pounded through the last sips of oxygen.
But when I scrambled back into the corridor, that button pinged off, and rolled towards an upturned bin. The world became instant relief. After a few minutes of frantic gasping, my time at Monfeld was at an end.
The bruise around my neck looks like a hangman’s noose. I went to Monfeld to drink some beers and see some ghosts. The shirt was three sizes too big.
What the hell is going on there?
