Driven by the loss of virtually everything I've ever written, I'm pushed onto the street to begin the ground work on something I've promised Jim to do for the reluanch of Big Robot.

"You got it/I want it" slur the Kills on a stereo.

Chrissy Williams applies eyeliner which hasn't touched skin for the best part of a decade.

Batteries are fumbled inside a digicam.

It's 10:30 on a Friday Night. We begin.