there were three of them. and an australian lady. she felt incredibly out of place but it was mainly because of her age. I will never understand what she was doing at a club like zinc at almost one o’clock in the morning. with the three of them. but you know what they say. one of them recognized me from some time ago. I only just remembered that particular night. hazelnut boy was late as always but I really did not mind. I was amused by the comments from the lady. she kept being paranoid and skeptical. I just shrugged, saying: he has a life of his own. I am fine with that. she didn’t seem to understand that, which was okay with me. I thought of nothing. I danced like no one was watching but everyone was. we found love in a hopeless place. the thing about hong kong clubs; the music is always the same and eventually my mind connected certain experiences to a single moment, which seems to repeat itself every time a particular song comes on. conscious tranquilized state of mind. by the time I saw him, faces of people around me blurred into one. the night was unusually slow and despite the music, quiet. maybe I felt out of place, too, even though the lady was not there anymore. 97 was closed and it was thursday. the whole night didn’t make sense to me. the red district was deserted in a way. I was half expecting to see the guitarist stumbling down the street. but there was no one. the city went to sleep far too early. I took him for breakfast at old china hand; the best chicken in town. it’s a disgusting place but at five in the morning no one cares and especially not me. I told him about my plans and he laughed his ass off. sunrise took away the night and our clothes, too. but it was quite pointless. at some moment through the night, we began to comprehend who we are. people around us are wrong and ignorant. I never thought I would identify with a quote by a chinese communist leader but this one has stayed with me for a long time now: revolution isn’t a gala dinner. no, it isn’t.