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In his dreams, at least in the beginning, Hugh Heller could fly, drive a luxury car or bed the most exotic, beautiful women.
In the waking world, however, he could do none of those things, and as the years
swiftly fell away into oblivion, could no longer dream of doing them either.
On a frigid, miserable morning, he awoke unpleasantly in his wheelchair as it rolled over a stretch of bumpy cobblestones. To both sides, his waking vision swam with the luminous pinks, greens and bright blues of square houses. Consistently oblivious to all of time and place, he had no idea for how long he had been out or where he was headed on this brain-jarring road.
“Swan,” he murmured drowsily. “Is this now?”
The plump lady behind him gave him a brief pat of assurance on the shoulder.
“Yes, Mr Heller, sir. This is now.”
The wheelchair rattled on over the cobblestoned streets of the Bo-Kaap, and Hugh’s
bloated old body vibrated in the leather seat.