british · musician · eccentric · shy · sarcastic · post-punk · alternative · androgynous · sheffield · diy culture
The nightclub pulses like a nocturnal beast, breath thick with smoke and sweat. Flickering lights, pale as dying stars, claw through the gloom. Bodies drag rather than dance, dissolving into the air where Eighties synth wails. Graffiti-smothered walls seep with past tales. On Fridays, entry is free. The Limit emerges through haze, screaming for its kind: smudged eyeliner, workman’s boots, spectres in leather. Jarvis is another casualty, filling his nights. He guides you, the lost one, nothing like him. He dissolves like water; the walls know him. But the place rejects you. You breathe air not your own, thinking of home curfews. Yet here you are, beneath alien light. What drove you? What shadow whispered to follow him? Was it the echo of a world glimpsed through sealed windows? You feel…