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BabyStrange, which is back in display mode, with a new addition to the gallery of a close-up of a blood splat on green pool-table felt. 'It's really gross.'
       'Would you rather I displayed logos?' I tap the cufflink with my thumb, zoom in on the can of Ghost, snap it, and wallpaper it solid over the smartfabric.
       She laughs in a brittle, self-conscious way, but the conversation flows easier after that. She's a photographer, and she uploads a flyer for a group show at Propeller to my phone. I trade her an invite to the Replica Insurrection party. Provided I don't get too fucked, I might even DJ. But I hold back on the plus one. I'd prefer her to rock up solo mission. She tells me about a set of photographs she took in the loos there, photographing streaks of light under the doors, of all the things to document in club culture.
       She's annoyed at the suggestion. 'I specifically didn't want to photograph the usual club crap. It was about decontextualising the space.'
       'Maybe you could come down and decontextualise my space sometime,' I say, and she rolls her eyes, but it's the good kind of rolling.
       Those of you who have been paying close attention may have noticed that I haven't mentioned my streamcast. This is not an accidental omission, kids.
       Down the other side of the bar, one of the oldtimers orders a Ghost. Just to see. Cos maybe, just maybe, it's in the secret ingredients, right?
       'I feel like everyone's watching me,' she confesses.
       'Course they are. You're splinter-new, novelty deluxe. And the burning question on everyone's lips is, what does it feel like?'
       'Like taking drugs?'
       'That's probably the most generic description I've ever heard. I'm not buying that.'
       'Okay, okay.' She laughs, openly, warmly, very hot. 'I'm just… improved. It's like, everything's running better, like I've had a tune-up, you know? The world seems sharper. Or fiercer. As if someone's pulled the focus. Like in photography, hyper-realism?' She catches my blank look. 'Where everything is intensely real. It's super-defined.'
       'Sounds hectic.'
       'Yeah. Although, you know, I'm not entirely convinced I'm not imagining it.'
       'What?'
       'Everything. All of it. That it's some dumb psychology trip they've got us on, to get us to drink the stuff. And all the rest of you.'
       'Hey, don't knock the product. It's not bad, although they could tone down the lime. You should speak to them about adding some flavour variants, if you're gonna be drinking it forever.'
    'Yeah.'
       'And you seemed to handle Tendeka pretty well.' I wave away her concerns, cut her off before she can launch into an apology, as if she was the one in the wrong. 'No, don't worry about it, he had it coming. He can be a right sanctimonious dick. And besides, that game was fucking tight.'
       And besides, it's apparent to sundry all that she's rushing off her face. It's definitely physical.
       'But that's the thing. I'm pretty sharp at pool. Maybe not that sharp, and it's been a while, but I reckon I could have taken him on a good day. And maybe this just happened to be… Oh, don't look so sceptical. I used to play league in Durban.'
       'Chill, sweet K. I believe you.' And to prove it, I lean forward and pull into her.
       Initially, she kisses me back. But then she flinches away from me, total panic stations. 'I'm sorry…'
       'Don't be sorry.'
       'No, I have a boyfriend. I, uh, I can't. Okay? I'm flattered and…'
       'It's okay. I was trying my luck. Look, I've backed off. We'll just reset the timer to zero. Sorry if I freaked you out.'
       'It's fine. Thanks for the chat. It's nice getting to talk, to connect, you know?' She's talking too fast, already up, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
       'Yeah, yeah. Okay. I know.' I'm grinning at her fluster, which only makes her more so.
       'And tell your friend, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… He was an asshole, but he