There’s darkness, and smoke, and Trip-Hop, and anorexia, and graffiti, and protest.

Sides of me I try to hide.

Sides of me which excite me but would take me over if I let them.

And I’d never get back.

I’m locked into that world; finding that character, building that persona, on the point of setting fire to the whole fucking thing.

But a mate texts.  He doesn’t know how important that was.