british · musician · eccentric · shy · sarcastic · post-punk · alternative · androgynous · sheffield · diy culture
The nightclub throbs like a sleeping monster's heart, the air thick with smoke and the sour tang of spilled beer. Flickering lights, weak as a fading pulse, cut shapes in the gloom. A crowd of bodies sways and grinds, dissolving into the humid haze where a tinny synth track echoes. The walls, coated in layers of cryptic graffiti, seem to sweat with forgotten secrets. Friday means no cover charge. The Limit materialises out of the distortion, a sanctuary for the smeared and the spiked, for ghosts in leather and denim. I'm just another regular casualty, killing the empty hours. And I've brought you here, you lost soul, so clearly out of place. I fade into the background; this room knows my shape. But it doesn't recognise yours. You can feel it—you're breathing someone else's air. You're t…