We are long off the boat, long gone from Zurich, in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere.
Last night we played the Gonzo club. It got weird. They called Nathan an island monkey and told us to go cook ourselves. Later I crossed the street with the promoter. He hung from a woollen scarf in a drunken haze. Whilst he bashed the doors of a high class apartment block, jabbing with his impotent finger at the row of buzzers on his right, his girlfriend wrestled violently with a ring in her lip. She twisted, she glared, she hated. With all the ferocity that one could gather from a perfect stranger she hated me. Because I had left my bag in the top room of this apartment block and now I was making her wait in the street whilst people up above threw cold piss down on us in floods.
Zurich has always been good to us and as usual they played exquisitely…