Who knows exactly where, or cares, after midnight…

Zombie drunks siphoning booze from discarded bottles of cup sake. Into the bins like crows.

And I’m somewhere in the clubs you never hear about, underneath the downstairs below. Hypnotically detached – my stare transfixed by snaking queues of impeccably-dressed fluorescent adolescents trying to get in to see Teenage Scratch Talk.

…until she breaks the trance, the one who brought me here, I already can’t remember her name.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, hardly convincing. “I’m okay.”

“You think we can get in?”

“I’m not interested, but feel free to try.”

A beat, then a pause.

Is she waiting for a punchline?

“I’m not that interested either,” she finally concedes.

“So, why are we here then?”

The question echoes in my head, like remembering ghosts.

She smiles and takes my hand.

“I know exactly where we should go.”

The look in her eyes says she’s dead serious.

And so I let her spirit me away…

…again.