On a dog day afternoon we crawled cowardly through the musty cobwebbed streets of the old cobbled town. It would be over soon. The vibrant arch of our adolescence was spinning into a plodding, muted, vexedness. We wanted to go out with a bang. All helter skelter thoughts of time and tide were toned down by our newer mundane labours.
We collapsed into the night. The sweaty sweet neon pulse of our teenage bar fantasies was sullied by the truth. They were just rooms. Rooms where people dreamed of something somewhere else. Rooms where people chased dreams around shadowed corners and up, and down knotted, rusty fire escapes. Escapes, they sought escapes. We sought escapes.