Desperate words around the kitchen sink were always going to be interesting. Eager to exchange, eager to impress with the sweet understanding of the microphone. I wanted the attention of this strangeness. No-one knew this or me. There we were, the haunt of perty wallflowers made good under the guise of art. A new, a man tired of himself, a boy discovering himself, a girl being herself. There was nowhere else I could be.