He was all amyl nitrite. She was all "Gabba Gabba Hey" and gamma gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid. Front-of-house guy in a piano scarf in the corner devouring some King Street vindaloo that he won’t shut up about. “Best ever”, he says, as eyes roll from here to Edinburgh. Backstage upstairs at some University. Can’t remember where. Down the road from the Royal Cambrian School for the Deaf & Dumb I think. Wander off alone. Wet asphalt I scurry across Oxford Road looking the opposite way crossing against the light eating a cheap cake from a sketchy snack shop. Tasteless cardboard jellyroll. Dodging TX4’s that look like little Bentley go-karts under the murky streetlights. Trying to find my way back. Long hallways, giant windows, lots of wood. Murphy’s Oil for miles. Staircases and corners. Old schoolhouse chairs. The smell of construction paper and glue. Kids doing crafts after school on a rainy day in February. Mum and dad still at work. Popsicle sticks and paper plates become trees with a kitten face. Pipe cleaners and red thread. Now we’re back home, laying in bed. Running my calloused fingers through her sunny head.