I brought a Philip K Dick anthology with me. I have never used hallucinatory drugs, I never felt I needed them. Just good fiction. Instinctively I knew I would need this.
Hitting the six week mark in Maputo, I picked up the volume and began to read “The Man in the High Castle“, a speculative novel about what the world would have been like if the axis had won what Americans call World War Two. In his world, everything is familiar but dislocated, turned inside out or subverted.
Not long after I had plunged headlong into his Pacific world, my mind started sliding off into a tangent. I recalled a number of conversations I have had here, mostly up north, at bars and in the back of pick-up trucks. In a sense, these conversations were the ultimate “speculative” moments.