I am pleased that my colleague comes out again, despite it being on a limited drinks token basis. I edge against caution and take four out of the purported six at Toshi’s Living Room, on Broadway. The waitresses wear next to nothing but that’s okay because the house band are hot. We move: downtown to the Village, and across to 9th, but not before going to the Nandos version of Texan cuisine. My colleague is secretly horrified but keeps it together as I pull apart a chicken leg and leave greasy remnants on a Pabst Blue Ribbon. Later: drinking ale at a bar made out of a hollowed Airstream next to a rude Villager who gets a drink spilt on her precious laptop. Later still: I go to Wendy’s and eat a burger and take a piss as a privelidged and over eager American woman bangs on the (locked door). Now: I lie, looking up at architecture and slowly remembering who I am and why I would never consider even for a second some of the things I have considered feasible this past week. I look at the scratches on my phone (which fell out of my pocket running across the street) and know why I am here and what has happened to me on the way here.