Prelude to a Birthday

(20th of June, 2024. 23:35)

It was a quiet evening at Camden Town Underground Station… weirdly quiet. Compared to the usual avalanche of tourists who crash through the tight entrance of the station, this was serenity. The station staff posted by the ticket gates were savouring this rare and special moment of calm like a delicacy from some distant shore. This being Camden Town, though, some were suspicious about how long their respite would last. Any kind of demented scene could take place. The tourists may be gone but the rotating cast of crackheads, who’re basically part of the external architecture of the station, were still there. Any one of them could be compelled by their drug-addled brains to start howling at passer-bys, or singing gibberish which sounds vaguely similar to New Rules by Dua Lipa, or become aggressive.

It was a pessimist’s triumph when the fears of the less optimistic station staff were confirmed. The source of the strain on their nerves wasn’t the crackheads, however, because even they obeyed the peace of this evening and remained in their crack stupor.

Camden Town realised just how normal and out of character it had been acting for the past hour and decided to produce this scene for the unsuspecting station staff and commuters. A woman leapt up the entrance stairs with such speed and agility that her loose blue shirt, cream-coloured shorts, platform trainers, and burgundy hair appeared as a blur. Stopping at the top of the stairs just before the ticket gates, she turned around and screamed in a loud and gruff command, “River! Gen! Asiimov! RUN! FASTER!” Her voice echoed down the stairs “FASTER! FASTER! FASTER!” and into the ears of her companions and everyone around who were bearing witness to this.

The first one to round the corner and run up the stairs was another woman, wearing shorts and a plaid shirt. The enthusiasm of her stride caused her bleached, shoulder-length hair to bounce around her androgynous face. “Go Georgia! Go! Asiimov and Gen are right behind.” This prompted Georgia to tap her phone on the ticket gate’s reader and run through to the other side, swiftly followed by her companion River.

Next to appear round the entrance was another woman wearing a dark-blue floral short-dress topped by a black leather jacket over a very cool pair of grey Nike sneakers. The only thing more unignorable than her bright, fiery red hair was the humongous mug, the size of her head, she was running with. It had red and white polka-dots, with small hearts instead of dots, and the words “BIG LOVE” emblazoned across it. Big indeed. Although she was doing a good job of holding the mug, the contents within proved to be much more difficult. With each bound up the stairs, small splashes of some hot, light-brown liquid spilt straight out of the mug and left tiny puddles on the floor. High-pitched yelps of horror burst out of her mouth each time her movement decreased the volume of the liquid. This prompted her to slow down ever so slightly.

“HURRY UP GEN!” screamed Georgia, who was anxiously waiting with River on the other side of the ticket gate.

“But I keep losing my tea!” replied Gen in a childish tone suffused with genuine sorrow.

“Fuck the tea! You’ll have plenty left. KEEP MOVING!” answered Georgia so loud that some commuters around her jumped from the sudden increase in decibel levels.

With a sad frown on Gen’s face, only interrupted by her sudden shrieks of tea-loss, she tapped her phone on the ticket gate and joined the others.

Hot on Gen’s heels was their final compatriot, who, by order of elimination, was Asiimov. Dressed in all black, he ran after them like a shadow, screaming, “My mug! My mug!”

The moment he ran up the stairs and tapped his phone onto the ticket gates, the others – satisfied everyone had caught up – continued their sprint through the station. Down the escalators they went, running down the left-hand side – the impatient lane - narrowly dodging unsuspecting commuters. Georgia was whipping them with her inarticulate cries for speed. River zoomed down the escalators with crazed determination. Gen hobbled like a penguin running after something, trying her damndest – and failing – not to spill more of her tea. And Asiimov, terrified for his mug, ran after them like a courageously insane soldier going over the top of his trench.

Most commuters going down and coming up the escalators - although showing no reaction, for such is the default mode of anyone confronted by a group of crazies – eyed this band of loud and twisted vagrants with avoidant fear. Those with a scintilla of humour smiled confused smiles as Georgia, River, Gen, and Asiimov whizzed past them like talkative bullets.

Relief was the only thing the station staff upstairs felt as the howls of “RUN FASTER!”, “My tea!”, and “My mug!” faded down the steep decline of the escalator. Let them be someone else’s problem, thought one staff member sardonically as unnatural tranquillity resumed its embrace of Camden Town Underground Station again.

It would be unfair of me to put you, friendly reader, in the same spot as the bewildered commuters upon whose senses our characters wreaked havoc if I continued this narrative without telling you the unlikely series of events leading up to this circus. Allow me, if you will, to take you back by a few hours.

(20th of June, 2024. 16:35)

Much like the out-of-character peacefulness that will hold Camden Town Underground Station hostage a few hours from now, it was an uncharacteristically sunny afternoon in London. Not even the damaged climate of the planet could hinder this late-June loveliness. The city, bathed in golden cosmic light, invited the appreciation of its citizens by them treading its ground and breathing its air. And the only place such appreciation could be appropriately given was the parks.

Having spent all afternoon in Primrose Hill, getting some writing done under the heavenly glow of the sun, Asiimov was returning home for some lunch. His flat was above a Simmons, a chain of dubiously cheap cocktail bars which you’ve probably seen around London. This meant his front door was right next to Simmons’ smoking area, making a run-in with drunk customers and annoyed bartenders unavoidable. Equally unavoidable is when the annoyed bartenders become the drunk customers at their own workplace. Such was the crowd Asiimov ran into when he arrived at his front door. Round a small table sat River, Georgia, and two others you haven’t heard of. Tall hurricane glasses full of some pinkish cocktail were being drunk by all, and everyone – except for River – smoked one roll-up after another.

“Hey River,” called out Asiimov as he approached the table, “I see you’re up and about, feeling any better?”

River lifted her head up dejectedly and stared through him with vacant eyes. In her finest plaid, she looked like the ghost of a lumberjack.

“I was woken up by the sound of these three screaming my name over and over again from down here. I thought I was still hallucinating from yesterday’s acid,” she said wearily.

“Nice! How iconic,” said Asiimov while sitting down next to River’s alarm clocks, then turning to her, “I’d have invited you to the park with me but you were out like a light.”

“My body and brain just feel really foggy,” said River as if words were a considerable effort to her.

“You said you did acid yesterday, right?” asked Georgia, “give it a few days before the glow-up kicks in. Too early to tell right now,” she concluded matter-of-factly.

Murmurs of agreement were exchanged among all but River.

“And how are you Georgia? I haven’t seen you since mine and River’s flat warming. How’s Oxford Street Simmons treating you?” asked Asiimov.

“Oxford Street is very good, but I miss being around here all the time though. Just working all the time maaaaaaaaan. I’ve been a very busy lady. Today I had a day off though and I heard Robyn and Lish were in town so we met up,” she said while gesturing towards the other two on the table.

“We came down from Brighton to see Spirited Away, the play. For their birthday,” said Lish in a deep, low voice. A black beanie fastened down her wild and short blonde hair as well as a boxy pair of yellow-tinted aviators. Silver piercings and jewellery sparkled like stars against the night sky of her all-black look.

“My birthday’s actually tomorrow,” clarified Robyn in a soft and gliding lilt, “but we came down just for the day for this show.” It was as if Robyn was wearing three different looks. Their hair was simultaneously in bangs, space buns, and a top knot. The black roots against their bleached tips only amplified the effect. With fishnets under black-denim shorts and a white collared shirt under a very elegant pin-stripe waistcoat with peaked lapels, they looked like a mechanic, a raver, and a CEO all rolled into one.  

“Wait!” interrupted Georgia, pulling out a mint-flavoured vape from her black leather bum-bag which made her look like a music festival drug dealer’s apprentice, “Is your birthday at midnight tonight?!” she bellowed with shock.

“Yeah!” sang Robyn.

Pulling her sunglasses down from her head and over her eyes, Georgia proposed mischievously, “Why don’t you stay the night so we can spend your birthday with you? Because I’m working tomorrow at 6 in the evening and won’t be able to come to Brighton. But I can come out tonight though.”

“What do you think Lish?” conferred Robyn.

“That makes sense to me, and we can just crash at my mum’s,” added Lish.

The idea burrowed itself into Robyn’s head with such efficiency that they immediately dived into their phone to book a different returning train. Asiimov, meanwhile, craned his head back and forth between the interlocutors like a film camera recording dialogue.

Georgia noticed his neck exercise and asked, “What are your plans today?”

“I was supposed to see a friend but he cancelled, so my evening is actually free for once,” said Asiimov, equally surprised to be uttering these words.

“Want to come with us to Primrose Hill? While Robyn and Lish are at the play we’re taking some tinnies to the park once Gen gets here,” invited Georgia.

“I take it you’re going too?” Asiimov asked River.

“Oh yes… It’s the summer solstice! I have to be out here to experience it” she said with faint relish in her eyes.

“Oh what?” Georgia piped up, “is it today?”

“Yeah! Longest day and shortest night of the year. The energy in the evening will be divine,” announced River with mounting eagerness.

“I just came back from Primrose Hill though” said Asiimov evasively, cutting into their conversation.

“Were you drinking when you were there?” asked Georgia.

“No.”

“Good, because you will be this time, so it’ll be different. It’ll be a solstice sesh!” she declared, then turning to River, “And it’ll cheer you up!”

River merely shrugged and flashed a polite and

“Well,” started Asiimov, thinking about all the additional work he could get done this evening, all the pages of a book he could read, the dinner he could cook, but ignored all of them over the temptation of getting drunk in a sunny park. “Alright, let me just have some lunch and then I’ll come join you guys.” This would also be a great opportunity to hang out with his flatmate River and get to know her more, he decided.

“Nice one!” yelped Georgia.

“Done! I’m staying the night,” announced Robyn.

“GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!” screamed Georgia at the very top of her lungs as she spotted blazing red hair somewhere in the distance among a pulsating crowd of pedestrians.

“GEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!” followed River with an enhanced echo that was louder than the source when she noticed Gen’s obliviousness.

Gen couldn’t hear a thing as her earphones were in, but she was on her way to them anyway so all the screaming was essentially pointless. But it’s the thought that counts, right?

You’re already aware of what she was wearing as her outfit would remain the same throughout the evening. Except she turned up wearing a pair of oversized black sunglasses which looked like they had been stolen from Robocop’s wardrobe.

Gen struck a pose; knees bent, ass sticking out, fingers held triumphantly in a horizontal peace sign, she held that pose under the gleaming sunlight like a party goddess cast in marble. Georgia pounced upon Gen, seemingly without having travelled through the intervening air between her chair and her best friend. Her hug brought the statue to life as they rollicked around the pavement, Gen trying to carry Georgia’s weight and not crash into passing strangers.

“Hello beautiful!” Gen said in a fine, high-pitched call to River as she got up to hug her.

Robyn and Lish each got a warm and loving hug too. So did Asiimov, but with the added question of, “I’m really sorry but you’ve got to remind me of your name again…”

“It’s all cool Gen!” said Asiimov good-naturedly, purposefully namedropping before reminding her of his.

Five different conversations between people he only vaguely knew were fluttering around and past Asiimov’s ears. He wasn’t quite sure which one he was supposed to tune into.

Robyn and Lish got up to leave, farewells and see-you-laters were exchanged.

“The show finishes at 9,” Robyn informed the whole party, “so you all better come meet us at King’s Cross Simmons at around 10.”

Everyone agreed.

Once they had left, Georgia, Gen, and River got up to leave too.

“You’ll come to Primrose Hill after your lunch?” River asked Asiimov.

“Yeah, I need to eat before I turn into a rotten, grumpy animal,” he warned.

“That’s fine! Come join us whenever,” smiled Gen a large and infectious smile that warmed the hearts of anyone on the other end of it.

(20th of June, 2024. 17:15)

That was some delicious pesto pasta Asiimov had just eaten. He was just about to leave when his phone pinged because of a text from River.

It read;

Could you bring the Bluetooth speaker? Gen has a portable charger.

This was wonderful news because their Bluetooth speaker had such pathetic battery life that, unless connected to a power source, it only had enough juice to play a couple of songs.

A second text appeared, displaying their live location from Primrose Hill.

He picked up a four-pack of Inches Cider along the way and was soon in Primrose Hill. Finding them among the hundreds of revellers in the park was no problem, given that Gen’s solar-red hair shone like a beacon. The closer he got to them though, it became clear that another person was among them. Maybe he was a friend of Georgia or Gen’s who joined them along the way. He wasn’t expecting this, and part of him wished this additional human wasn’t present, but he ignored his social awkwardness and marched into their company.

“Hello hello everyone!” he said excitedly.

Everyone returned his greeting except the new person. Strange but ok, thought Asiimov dismissively.

It appeared Georgia and Gen were engrossed in some kind of conversation with him, the aim of which became clearer to Asiimov with each subsequent word.

“…I got everything, you can see it in the picture I texted you.” His soft yet stern face was shadowed by a cap, out of which protruded a short but well-groomed beard. Sporting an all-black Northface tracksuit with Reebok trainers, along with a black leather bum bag slung around his chest, he looked like the mentor to Georgia’s apprentice.

“How long will you be around in the area for?” asked Georgia.

“I’m here all evening bro, what you sayin’ then?” he asked humorously.

“Do you have any shrooms?” asked Gen with such enthusiasm that she had to put down her takeaway bowl of noodles from Wagamama.

“Yeh,” he said.

“How much for?” interjected Georgia.

“3.5 for £70 or 5 for £90”

Georgia’s face may have winced at the price but her eyes continued to glow with the determination all this talk about shrooms had illuminated.

“How long until you can get them?” she asked.

“I can get it in half an hour. I’ll text you and you can come meet me by the edge of the park,” he instructed.

Thinking it was a long shot but probably worth asking anyway, Georgia said, “I don’t have any cash on me, do you mind doing a bank transfer? I don’t mind getting cash out though, just can’t be asked…”

“Yeh, bank transfer’s sound,” he agreed.

Everyone tried not to look so shocked. The man got up to leave when Georgia asked him, “What’s your name by the way bruvva?”

“Modi, how about all of yous?”

Names and pleasantries were passed around, and soon, Modi was gone, off to do business with another group of park-dwellers.

“What an entrepreneurial dealer!” remarked Asiimov.

“I know right?!” said Gen, equally surprised.

“They’re a dying breed,” was River’s comment.

The early evening sun was casting slanting, drunk shadows across the emerald grass and illuminating the world with one final explosion of light before retiring for the day.

“Would anyone like a cider?” offered Asiimov, only to receive a counteroffer from Gen.

“How about you have some of this vodka first?” she said.

It was a very suspicious-looking bottle of cherry vodka, of a very lurid and sickly colour. The fact that it was Smirnoff didn’t help the fact either. For some reason, which no one felt like learning, the only plastic cups they had were ones with a conical bottom, the kind you’d find next to a water dispenser in some depressing office.

Their choice of mixers was either apple or pineapple juice, which Georgia poured for everyone. As the shape of the cups denied being put down without spilling everything, the drinks stayed in their hands.

Regardless of the mixer, the drink landed on their tongues and rolled down into their livers like a sugary inundation. There was none of the harsh scratch typical of cheap booze like Smirnoff, probably because it was drowned by sugar.

“Christ!” remarked Asiimov, “This is delicious. You can’t taste the alcohol at all.”

“Take a straight shot of it, you still won’t taste it,” said Georgia, passing him the bottle.

He didn’t hesitate to test this hypothesis, pouring himself a shot in the cap and knocking it back without the flinch and burn he was wearily expecting.

“Goddamn…” he said in astonishment.

Soon after, Georgia’s phone pinged because the dealer had arrived. Excited shuffles ensued when Gen and Georgia put their shoes on and headed to the meeting place. Left alone in each other’s company, Asiimov and River searched their minds for something to say to one another. Sitting in comfortable silence was entirely an option, but something heavy lay in the air between them that required words to be lifted away.

“How are you?” she asked gently while lying reposed on the grass, staring up at the sherpa sky, “You seem a bit distant lately.”

“Me?” asked Asiimov idiotically, “I’m good, I just tend to become hyper-fixated with certain things in my life, and at the moment it’s making new friends while also trying to stay productive.”

“You really have been, you’ve got more of a social life than me at the moment… which is weird,” she said surprised.

He wasn’t sure exactly how to reply to this. Acknowledgement? Agreement? Evasion? Instead, he opted for the more ambiguous and non-committal, “Well, what can I say?”

“Nothing, it’s good,” was her terse reply.

“And how are you? Be honest.”

She propped herself on her elbows to say this, “When I moved in with you, the first month was full of activity. We had the housewarming party, then we had guests over almost every day. Now that it’s calmed down and I’m hearing the silence of the flat, it’s disconcerting sometimes,”

“The honeymoon period is over,” he added.

“Yeah, it was a very sudden transition,” she said, “and because I’m very extroverted, my brain doesn’t know how to handle all this alone time. Especially since you’re out of the flat so often now, I have to figure out how to entertain myself.”

He was finding it increasingly difficult to reply to these statements about his social life. River was wonderful company to have around but he also had a life outside his flat that needed tending to. This didn’t stop him feeling ever so slightly conscious, however, that he’d been neglecting his time and friendship with River. Technically, the things she was bringing up were correct, and that’s what was making this conversation so awkward for Asiimov.  But he wasn’t going to apologise for having other friends. It felt like he was under interrogation from a parent. “That’s just natural though River,” he said after emptying his drink and making himself a new one, “there will be periods of activity and periods of rest. And you’ve got to learn how to enjoy your own company, otherwise you’ll just be relying on other people to show you a good time.”   

“Don’t get me wrong,” she corrected, “I know perfectly well how to enjoy myself, my brain just can’t handle long periods without human contact.” It wasn’t even that River was beginning to feel lonely, all she needed was a body double to get on with her day around.

“Either way, there has to be some balance of activity and quiet. Too much of one or the other will drive you mad. This is just a quiet period. It’ll pick up again if you go looking for it. ”

“There’s no such thing as too much partying in my mind,” she said ironically.

“Be that as it may, you need to take care of yourself,” he encouraged.

“It’s becoming really hard to do that when it feels like I’m kind of stagnating in life. You know how I went to my friend’s wedding in Scotland the other week? It was amazing being up there, but I also felt like I’m not where I should be in life. I mean, my friend is the same age as me!” she confessed, laying back down again.

“What do you think is lacking from your life then?”

“I feel like I should be making more music but the inspiration won’t come to me,” she said despondently, “I’ll sit down at my laptop with the intention to make something and nothing will come out.”

“You can’t bottle inspiration though. It has to come to you by its own accord. It’s like a mirage in the desert, it recedes away from you as fast as you run after it,” he said, feeling pretty wise.

“I understand the words you’re saying, but what do you mean by them?”

“Look, you enjoy making music right? That should be the only reason you sit down at your computer to make music, because you enjoy it. Not to produce some fantastic legacy or to prove to yourself or anyone else how good of a musician you are. This applies to anything creative. As long as you enjoy making music and you make music just for the sake of it, then it will happen effortlessly.”

In a voice that came from as far away as she was looking, she said, “But I do enjoy making music though…”

“I think what’s happening here,” said Asiimov, unperturbed by her waning hope, “is that you’ve got musician’s block. Just leave it alone for a while and return to it later, that’ll cure your musical funk.”

“But I did take some time off, I went to Scotland for a week for that wedding. It was utterly Edenic. I was taking a walk and could hear music in the hills and valleys and all I could help doing was sing along. There were no words, just inarticulable sounds which I tried my best to respond to with inarticulate singing. The scenery was singing through me.”

Asiimov, who had been held rapt by this account, finally managed to say, “If that is how you connect with nature, through music, then your credentials as a musician can’t ever be disputed. You may not have a job or a recording contract, but what you’ve just told me makes you a musician at heart.”

“That’s the problem though,” said River with extreme frustration, “I had all this inspiration and determination while I was in Scotland, not making music. The moment I return to make music, all of it disappears.”

What advice could he give without sounding repetitive? It wouldn’t have done to suggest another career path because he knew fairly well that like most people in their twenties who pursue their passion with tunnel vision, music was River’s entire lot in life. Just in that moment though, Gen and Georgia returned, saving Asiimov from his lack of friendly advice.

From the pocket of her leather jacket, Gen pulled out a medium-sized baggie containing 3.5 grams of brain melters. Some people, especially those who haven’t tried it, would find it difficult to believe these dried and shrivelled-up pieces of fungi can completely blow your mind to smithereens, for good or ill.

“Got the goods!” declared Gen as if this was as innocuous as buying a carton of milk from the supermarket.

They delicately opened the bag, each took a healthy-sized mushroom and passed the bag to River, who, after a bit of contemplation took one herself.

“Want one?” Gen asked Asiimov.

“Tempting as it is,” he said, “I have to save myself for a getaway that’s coming up. Thank you though!”

With their business concluded, they could plant their roots in this park and begin their sesh in earnest. The existence of the speaker was finally realised and Asiimov put on Screamadelica on his phone.

Just what is it that you want to do?

We wanna be free

We wanna be free to do what we want to do

And we wanna get loaded

And we wanna have a good time

And that’s what we’re gonna do

We’re gonna have a good time

We’re gonna have a party

Given the saccharine flavour of the vodka which made it go down as easy as cherry juice, they drank that stuff wantonly, sometimes straight from the bottle. A pouch of tobacco was passed back and forth from which everyone except River rolled themselves cigarettes. At a truly silly rate did they all intoxicate themselves, while waiting for the mushrooms to permeate their brains.

The sun’s slow and smooth descent from the sky had taken it far off towards the horizon behind them, hiding behind an endless plain of trees and buildings from where it shot out slivers of light between the gaps. Replacing the sun’s heat was a slight chill which would only get worse as the evening continued. Like cats moving about the room to bathe in moving pools of sunlight coming through the window, our characters followed their diminishing patch of sunlight all the way near the crest of Primrose Hill. Besides, it would be warmer up the hill too considering how many people were perched upon its face that looks towards Central London. It appeared, once again, that everyone was under the spell of the same idea. First it had been to come to the park and get drunk in the sunshine, now it was to move up the hill. The entire population of the park was now condensed onto the South face of Primrose Hill, leaving the rest of the park virtually empty.

On their way up, Asiimov spotted two Black men, both dressed in the height of casual street fashion, sitting on either side of what looked like a large mini-fridge.

“Check them out!” he said, “They’ve come prepared.”

The closer they got to them, the louder their mini fridge got, for it was playing music!

“Oh shiiiiiit!” exclaimed Georgia to the others, “look at the size of their fucking speaker.”

Look at it indeed. Impossible not to. It was so big that there were wheels at the bottom and a handle which allowed it to be carried like a trolley bag. You’d find those speakers mounted in the corners of shopping centres or large superstores for their PA systems. Instead, it was in a park, rendering your average Bluetooth speaker puny by comparison. As they couldn’t hear a single note out of their own speaker, Asiimov turned it off because there wasn’t any point. No one complained or grumbled, however, because the two Black gentlemen were considerate enough to play classic crowd-pleasers.

Our characters walked into the monumental sound range of that speaker in the middle of Ms. Jackson by OutKast. Asiimov gave the cool owners of the speaker a salute for their valiant efforts to hold down the vibes. They had become the unnominated yet revered DJs of Primrose Hill.

Asiimov, River, Gen, and Georgia found a sitting spot near the top of the hill, not too far away from its musical epicentre. The sun had all but vanished, leaving dim splashes of orange and pink against an ultramarine sky which was fading like the hues of memory in the winter ages of life. Things were becoming wavy for the four of them, which was an invitation for them to continue their drinking unabated. In trying to deal with the inconvenient geometry of their conical cups, Georgia proposed an ingenious solution. She took one of her shoes off and simply inserted the cup into the foot-hole. It slotted right into place with no threat of spilling inside her shoe. They WHOOPED and HOWLED like a band of Homo erectus who’d just discovered fire, and each proceeded to unshoe themselves so they could use it as a cup holder. Meanwhile, the Homo sapiens on the hill looked curiously upon our characters like they were an animatronic exhibit in the Natural History Museum. 

Shortly afterwards, Gen, Georgia, and River began to feel funny, as if their hands and feet had turned into static. Their extremities hissed and fuzzed like a TV trapped between channels. As a result, the charge of their hands and feet was attracting all kinds of strange particles towards them. The cloud of molecules that surrounded their body was incredibly ticklish, demonstrated by how often they’d break out in fits of splendid laughter. One of them would say something quite innocuous and plain, sending the other two into rapturous cackling. Meanwhile, Asiimov just watched and laughed along as their infectious mirth pulled him into their midst.

Just when it seemed they’d never stop laughing, something happened which held them all spellbound. River spotted it long before the rest as her eyes had been pinned to the sky in silent appreciation for some time. Shocked by her companions’ obliviousness, she said, “Look at how fabulous the moon looks!”

Words truly struggle to capture that spectacular scene. Not exactly night-time, the sky had darkened enough to reveal the moon, which hung in all its glory over the London skyline like a radiant jewel. From Canary Wharf to the City, then onto Westminster and the West End, glass buildings stuck out of the horizon like odd punctuation points. They were made even more ethereal by the fuzzy lighting which blended their edges into the dark sky behind them. The dying rays of the sun reflecting off their polished surfaces were the only thing stopping these buildings from fading completely into the night. Hence, every glassy aspect of the London skyline blazed a weak orange, like the embers of a fireplace, cooling against the chilling black of the night sky. The moon, meanwhile, illuminated a halo so milky that its own countenance was effortless to read. Staring up at this celestial goddess, it made sense to Asiimov why people so often discerned a jovial smile upon its face, because it was right there, unmistakably friendly.

“Do the full moon and solstice always match up?” asked Gen, still hypnotised by the sky. 

“Nope. This is a complete coincidence,” said River assertively, “I’m sure the full moon and solstice have aligned in the past before, but it’s rare.”

“Oh wow!” was all Georgia could manage to say once this information sank in.

And they weren’t the only ones staring wild-eyed at this cosmic spectacle. Everyone on the hill; the DJs, the dozens of groups making up hundreds of people either sat down or stood up, all of them had stopped talking and a deferential silence took hold of the whole park. That unit of a speaker still kept playing music though, but Maria Maria by Santana was actually quite fitting for the setting.

There were so many people here for so many reasons. Those who were here for the solstice, who were here to catch a full moon, who were here for both, who were here for neither and just wanted to get drunk in the park. Whatever their motives may have been, they were all here and under the ecstasy of this view. That’s exactly what River was thinking about at that moment, how these celestial bodies were having such an influence on people as to gather them here on this hill. Even the indifferent had been roped in. There was something more than simply a collective decision-making at play here. Something significant was happening, the nature of which was unclear at that moment but would bear explicit implications later; maybe tomorrow or years from now. Whether it was the residual LSD and the active mushrooms playing on her mind or not, that heavenly ballet unfurling across the firmament was no hallucination.

Something had been stirred deep within the souls of those who looked upon this view. For a brief moment, it felt as if the troubles of the world no longer existed, dwarfed into insignificance by this supernal beauty. Rent, jobs, bills, tax, politics, all of these seemed petty and pointless. And this was not in the stupid hippie sense of “why can’t everyone just get along” but rather it put the whole thing in an existential light. No matter what havoc goes down on the surface of this planet, the cosmic clockwork which makes solstices, full moons, eclipses, transitions, and an endless list of heavenly spectacles possible will keep on ticking. Infinity cares little for the pursuits of the finite. And this was a comfort for those perched upon this hill. Everyone’s problems slipped out of concrete objectivity and into airy subjectivity, something that could be influenced and overcome.

Sighs of deep relief escaped everyone’s mouths as if they descended some fantastic transcendence. And immediately those who weren’t dressed for it felt cold and chilly. The sun had taken with it its blanketing warmth, leaving everyone in summer dresses, shorts, and t-shirts totally exposed to the harsh chill of the night. Alcohol was the only insulation most people had going for them.

“Guys I’m freezing now, what shall we do? We’re supposed to go to King’s Cross Simmons at some point before midnight. We’ve still got plenty of time though,” announced Georgia.

“We can go back to ours and get into warmer clothes before heading out,” suggested River with new-found vivacity.

“And I can have a cup of tea!” murmured Asiimov who’d been craving one since his last cup at lunch-time.

“Oooooooooh that sounds like a shout!” echoed Gen.

“And perhaps a spliff?” asked Asiimov, who was the most sober out of them all and the intoxication gap between him and them was becoming difficult to ignore.

With a plan and a cocktail of drugs and alcohol in their heads – except Asiimov’s – they got up to leave but immediately ran into trouble. As happens to people on certain drugs who have been in one position like sitting or lying down for too long, the moment Gen and Georgia stood up, their intoxication became incredibly obvious to them. The world around them transformed into a carnival; light entered through their ears, sound through their eyes, smell through their hands, and everything moved about them like a boat rocked by mischievous waves.   

It appeared that the only adequate response Georgia and Gen could give to the unclassified shape of the world was fantastic laughter.

“AHAH AHAH AHAH” went Georgia.

“HI HI HI HI HI HI HI” went Gen.

So extremely did they laugh that they fell to the floor instantly as their legs became immobile. Let alone multi-tasking, they had totally lost even their single-tasking abilities. Mirth had flooded their brains, drowning their neurons in breathless happiness, making it nigh impossible to do anything. Clearly the mushrooms hadn’t affected River to the same extent as them because she just stood there watching them roll around on the floor. Her attempts to suppress her own laughter were so she wouldn’t catch whatever they had. Asiimov, on the other hand, was confused, trying to come up with ways of transporting them. Where were wheelbarrows when they were needed?

Georgia and Gen were loving this, however. Who could possibly complain about being overcome with unstoppable joy?

Asiimov bent down low over them like a schoolmaster and said, “Girls, breathe!”

“Breathe!” echoed River.

“BREATHE!” he shouted.

Once the instruction reached their ears, they immediately complied and took slow and deep breaths. Their laughter would slow down to the silent crawl of their breathing but would speed up again and break into a sprint once they lost their rhythm and became seized by frantic mirth again. Like doggy paddling to stay above water, it took them a few moments to lock into the pattern of breathing which kept them afloat over their laughter. Not only had their laughter decreased in volume to a respectable

“AHAH AHAH AHAH” and

“HI HI HI HI HI HI HI”,

but they had composed themselves enough to sit up and eventually stand upright again. Asiimov grabbed hold of Georgia while River of Gen to make sure they wouldn’t tip over like a felled tree. An idea immediately struck River!

“You two see the lights down there?” she asked them.

They still hadn’t made any progress from their spot near the top of the hill, giving them a brilliant vantage of the park below. Blackness reigned across the sky above them, but down below the streetlamps had been turned on. The paths criss-crossing through Primrose Hill were adorned with these beautifully quaint Victorian streetlamps which illuminated the area around them with a pool of warm white light. Puddles of light revealed little patches of the park down there, a tuft of grass here, a bench there. From where they stood, the distant streetlamps looked like fireflies frozen in mid-air.

“You see those lights right?” River asked again with feverish excitement in her eyes, “We’re going to run towards them.”

The moment the final syllable left her lips, she took off zooming down the hill. She didn’t turn around to see whether Georgia and Gen would run after her because she knew with certainty they would. And correct she was, for, possessed by whatever speed demon River had passed onto them, they ran after her without hesitation. So complete was their possession that they left Asiimov and all their belongings behind in a cloud of dust. A bit flummoxed, he began collecting all their things; Gen’s handbag, a Tesco bag they’d been using as a bin, the four-pack of cider he bought, and a Wagamama box which was empty except for a single lime wedge in it that Gen had been saving precisely for this moment.

“I want to suck on this lime when I’m high later, I love doing it!” she had said earlier while they were waiting for the dealer to arrive, and insisted that the lime be kept secure in the box it came in.

While Asiimov collected all their belongings, River, Gen, and Georgia were flying down the hill on weightless legs with gravity on their side. With their entire being focussed on their movement through space and the lights ahead, they appeared to have completely outrun their laughing fits. Having gained more speed than her legs could endure, however, Georgia took a tumble and was lost among the tall grass. River and Gen, oblivious to Georgia’s fall, continued running. Asiimov, though, had noticed what happened and immediately ran towards her. The closer he got to where Georgia had fallen, wild and riotous laughter issued forth from the tall grass that had completely devoured her.

“Are you ok?!” he asked while quickly brushing long and itchy strands of grass aside to reveal Georgia folded over on herself in laughter.

“AHAAAAAH AHAAAAAH AHAAAAAH!”

All her composure was gone as laughter overtook her, leaving her rolling around on the floor in childish ecstasy.

“Do you need a hand getting up?” he asked.

She simply shook her head, which Asiimov took as “no I don’t need help, I’ll be up in a moment”. What she really meant was, “no I don’t need a hand getting up because there’d be no point.” Through her laughter, she breathlessly managed to utter, “Just leave me here, AHAAAAAAAAH AHAAAAAAH, I’m dead now.”

“In that case,” resolved Asiimov, “you need a burial. I can’t just leave you here.”

So he began tearing little clumps of grass and throwing them on her, like dirt over a coffin, and recited these rites with the solemnity of a drunkard,

“We’re gathered here today to celebrate the life and work of Georgia. Well… it was more work and less life but that’s beside the point. She definitely led a life though, what that kind of life was, few can tell. We therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life. Amen.”

This wasn’t helping for her laughter quadrupled and all hope of Asiimov getting her off the ground was lost. River and Gen, at the foot of the hill by now, had finally noticed the missing members of their party, spotting them somewhere halfway up the hill unmoving. They became attendants at Georgia’s impromptu funeral when they ran back up to investigate what was happening.

“Georgia’s dead,” said Asiimov with faux dignity.

“it’s my AHAAAAH AHAAAAH AHAAAAH funeral guys!” said Georgia from her new home in the ground.

“Alright,” said River, “let’s get you up.” River grabbed hold of one hand, Gen the other, while Asiimov supported her by her waist. In a moment, she was back on her feet again and, it appeared, exorcised of whatever cackling spirit that was possessing her.  

After some deep breaths, she managed to ask, “Do I have any cuts?”

“I don’t think so,” said Gen, unable to tell in the scant lighting.

“What happened anyway?” was River’s inquiry.

“I fell HAAAAAAAAH. And then Asiimov gave me a burial. He was reciting my last rites and everything. It really felt like I was experiencing my own funeral for a moment AHAAAAAAAAH,” said Georgia happily.

“Would you be satisfied if your actual funeral went down like that?” asked Asiimov.

“You know what? Yeah! Can you be the priest at my funeral?” she offered.

“I’m actually an ordained priest,” said Asiimov nonchalantly, “got a free certificate online. Sooooooo, I’m sure I could officiate your funeral.”

Asiimov cracked open the cans of cider and handed one to each of them which they drank on the way back to his flat. Additionally, he offered Gen the lime she was saving, which she slipped into her handbag because she claimed not to be high enough. It was a mere thirteen-minute walk under the comforting, orange glow of the street lamps. Each time the halo of a lamp briefly illuminated their faces, brightening and darkening again, they bore smiles and weightless laughter. Apart from giggling and talking absolute nonsense, the walk back home was fairly uneventful. This, however, was simply the calm before the storm.

(20th of June, 2024. 22:04)

Upon arriving at the flat, the girls quickly locked themselves in River’s room to help her get dressed, while Asiimov busied himself with popping the kettle on, setting his colour-changing bulbs to party mode, and spinning some records. He played Automatic by Mildlife. Once the others emerged, Georgia asked, “Do you have an iPhone charger? My phone’s on 6%.”

With her phone safely on charge in the corner of the room, she then asked for their rolling supplies and proceeded to roll a killer spliff. She held it modestly like it took no effort to make, but actually, the thing was a piece of art. Almost as conical as the glasses they were drinking out of in the park and without a single crease, the spliff was rolled to perfection.

They wasted no time in sparking it up, and even though they were smoking out the window, the pungent smell of weed wafted through the place.

“I’ve only got three normal-sized mugs so one of you will need to take this gigantic one, is that alright?” asked Asiimov.

He pulled the mug in question out of his cupboard and he wasn’t lying in his description of it. A small child could’ve worn it as a hat. It had red and white polka-dots, with small hearts instead of dots, and the words “BIG LOVE” emblazoned across it. Big indeed.

Gen volunteered to take it.

“I’m going to spike my tea with some gin, would anyone else like some?” Asiimov asked.

Gen and Georgia’s features twisted into curiosity as they contemplated the wisdom of this combination.

“Gimme some!” said Georgia immediately.

Gen wanted to taste Georgia’s first before having some herself. Satisfied with how the tea almost completely masked the gin, she asked for a healthy shot of it in hers too.

“It’s G&Tea! River introduced me to it the other week,” he announced while passing the mugs around.

“Why do you have this huuuuuuuuuuge mug anyway?” asked Gen as Asiimov passed her a reservoir of tea.

“Oh that? It’s a present from my late grandmother. I was living with her for a while after I had a falling out with my parents and she gave it to me as a moving-out gift,” he said. His eyes glazed over with nostalgia as he recounted how she used to serve him soup in oversized mugs to satisfy his compulsion to drink them. “It’s a little piece of her I’ve got left,” he concluded tenderly.

“That’s really lovely! We’ll drink to her memory,” said Gen before they clinked their mugs and resumed partying.

Photons of different wavelengths from the flashing, colour-changing lightbulb bounced and ricocheted off the walls of their flat, making the lights feel amplified. The spliff was passed around and when it was smoked down to the roach, another one was promptly rolled. They drank their alcoholic tea like time had stopped and there would be no bodily consequences later, floating around the flat like intoxicated ghosts. Asiimov had put on a particularly electrifying album called Made in Timeland by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. Blasting bass and the rising pulse of techno reverberated through their bellies and compelled their legs to move by their own will.

Asiimov casually looked at his watch and saw that the time was 11:24pm.

“Hey,” he asked, “aren’t you guys supposed to be at King’s Cross Simmons for Robyn’s birthday before midnight?”

“Yeah,” said Georgia with a ghostly pale face, “what’s the time now?”

With a blank expression on his face, he told them.

In an instant, Georgia was gripped by an anxious determination as she put her drink and spliff down and leapt across the room to where her phone was on charge. She kicked herself for not having her phone on her for such an important occasion!

There was a long string of messages from Robyn on her phone from 10 minutes ago…

when you coming

im wanting u to join us before midnight

where are you

i thought you were all coming

Georgia furiously typed out,

We’re about to get a cab there!

She instantly received a reply from Robyn, saying,

hurry!!!

“GUYS! THE TIME! GUYS! THE TIME!” screamed Georgia like a drill sergeant, “We need to get to King’s Cross in half an hour!”

“That’s enough time for us to walk there,” said River with a raised finger.

“Absolutely not!” snapped Georgia, knowing that none of them – except for perhaps Asiimov – were in any state to make that walk. Especially down the sketch central that’s Regent’s Canal at this time of night. They might as well be wearing a neon sign saying, “STAB ME!”.

“Everyone grab your shit, we’re leaving!” bellowed Georgia and everyone, besides Asiimov who wasn’t going anywhere, began shuffling around the flat looking for their possessions. 

A peculiar change had come upon River, Gen, and especially Georgia. From one moment to the next, they went from being on the edge of a blissful stupor to careening around the flat in a frenzy of panic. A casual observer wouldn’t have believed their eyes seeing such speed and momentum being channelled through bodies that, just moments ago, were frozen in pleasurable lethargy. And no one embodied this swift and complete transformation more than Georgia. With a voice as thunderous and a demeanour as unbreakable as hers, no one else could possibly be in charge other than her.  Perhaps being the assistant general manager of Simmons’ busiest bar has something to do with it.

Even the vibrations of the room, influenced by its stressed-out inhabitants, had been twisted out of shape. Those colour-changing lights, which, up till now, were a sight pleasant on the eyes, had suddenly rendered the room sinister. Like a bohemian heroin den that desperately needed escaping from. Formerly trembling with noise, the room was plunged into silence when the record player was stopped by Georgia to facilitate their concentration.

Asiimov, on the other hand, who had no stakes in this mission, simply sat there and watched this flurry of panic unfold around him. For all he was concerned with, his day would end after they left. It was bedtime for him considering he had to be up at 6:30 in the morning for work.

Wasting no time, Georgia dived into the Uber app to book a taxi. Each attempt, however, turned out futile as it took an abominable amount of time to connect to a driver. When her patience and hope ran out, she simply cancelled and tried again.

“This fucking thing is taking too long!” gasped Georgia with volcanic rage, “you guys try some other taxi apps, Bolt or Free Now or something.”

Gen and River scrambled for their phones and began looking for taxis, but also to no avail.

“AHA!” declared Georgia, “I’ve connected! Let’s see how far away he is… ah there it is… wait! What the fuck?! This guy is 14 minutes away! It’s 11:34 now, that’s too tight. Bullshit! I’m going to try connecting to someone else.”

Asiimov had been watching them with considerable interest. There was a certain wretched entertainment in all of this. He sincerely hoped they would make it for Robyn’s birthday on time, but this struggle was sincerely riveting too.

In spite of the pressure this situation was exerting on them, River would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying this too. Since this afternoon in the park, she had been doing a good job of keeping the wild rodent of her existential fears locked up in a box and tucked away in some back room of her mind. The rodent, however, occasionally threatened to chew through the box and run amok in her soul again. This entire mission was an opportunity to lock that plague-bearing animal in a studier box. Furthermore, electrified by the adrenaline of the circumstances, her worries were reduced to ash for now.

Tired of watching, Asiimov decided to contribute, so he pulled out his phone and checked how long it would be on public transport.

“Guys…” his voice broke the tense surface of bristling silence, “if you leave now you can get to King’s Cross Simmons in 12 minutes on the tube. It’s a short walk from King’s Cross Station to the bar,” saying this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Who goes straight for the taxi when the public transport is running, he thought.

Georgia’s face said more than her words that a decision had been made and it was to take the tube. By this point, River, Gen, and Georgia had shoes on their feet and their possessions on them, so they swiftly got up and made for the door.

“Goodbye Asiimov! It was lovely seeing you after so long. I’ll see you soon at some point, yeah?” said Georgia as she was hurrying out the door. He flashed her a warm smile in response, which she didn’t see as she was halfway down the stairs by then.

“I’ll see you tomorrow when you’re back from work?” asked River, to which he nodded sleepily.

Gen was awkwardly standing in the middle of the room with her bucket of alcoholic tea in her hands.

“Do you have a plastic cup I can take this in?” she asked demurely.

He was entirely sure he didn’t, but looked through his cupboards anyway just in case one had miraculously turned up. Alas, no miracles had occurred. This increased her awkwardness twofold as it became purified with confusion as to what to do with the tea she wanted to take with her.

“GEEEEEEN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” yelled Georgia from the downstairs entrance to the building. Her voice travelled up two flights of stairs and through Asiimov’s open door, unhindered in its volume by the distance.

“There’s no plastic cups for me to take my tea with me in!!” responded Gen in as much vigour.

“FUCK PLASTICS! TAKE THE MUG!” screamed Georgia as she – from what the sudden slamming of the downstairs entrance door suggested – ran out of the building and out into the night air with River.

That was all the instruction Gen needed as she bolted down the stairs to catch up with the others. For a split second, Asiimov was too bewildered to react to the fact that someone he barely knew had run off with his beloved grandmother’s mug. Then, a bolt of lightning set the sky of his realisation ablaze with the fact that someone he barely knew had run off with his beloved grandmother’s mug!

In an instant, he put his feet into some slip-on shoes, grabbed his keys and ran after his inadvertent mugger. While sprinting down the stairs, he thought about the implications of what was going on; he’d be following a girl to a party he hadn’t been explicitly invited to. How would Georgia and Gen take it when they see him running after them? How would he explain to Robyn that he’d just decided to turn up at their birthday? What nonsense! It was time to shoot first and ask questions later; his mug was being stolen and he had to ensure its safety!

Georgia was leading the charge with River, Gen, and Asiimov behind her. It took her a moment to realise the reason why their host also was running after them. Plus, his shouts of “MY MUG! BE CAREFUL OF MY MUG!” were a dead giveaway. The mug and Asiimov, sentimentally speaking, were one entity. Telling Gen to take the mug with her would obviously have brought Asiimov along too. She felt slightly uncouth and inconsiderate for involving the mug – and by proxy, Asiimov – like this, but it was all good. It wasn’t as if Robyn and Lish would object to Asiimov’s presence. So driving all thoughts out of her mind, she bent her will towards the singular act of running.

And now, friendly reader, you’re all caught up.

Where were we? Yes! Our band of unlikely travellers were hopping down the escalators at Camden Town Tube Station, attracting uncomfortable sidelong glances from commuters and station staff.

At the bottom of the escalator was a landing which then split off into four corridors taking commuters to the station’s different platforms. They all convened there and stared fixedly at the timetable board which showed the platform trains would depart from.

“We take the Morden via Bank train right?” asked Georgia to the group.

Asiimov, who’d been possessively staring at his mug in Gen’s hands, had a realisation at that moment. Actively helping them reach their destination rather than simply running after the mug was the best way to assure its safety. The quicker they got to King’s Cross Simmons, the less time his mug would spend in harm’s way.

“Yes!” shouted a determined Asiimov and instantly ran down the corridor towards the correct platform. Aha! There was a train waiting to leave. He strode down the stairs like a gazelle and put his foot before the door to stop it from closing. Upon turning around though, he found none of them were there. Should he feel annoyed or confused, he didn’t know. What he could tell for sure was the flutter of Gen’s short floral dress ahead in the distance, hobbling towards a different platform. So he zoomed up the stairs and caught up with Gen, who was lagging behind the others given the immense and delicate load of the tea she was failing to carry. Asiimov had noticed a trail of tea puddles attesting to the path Gen had taken, a sight that didn’t fill him with confidence in the carrier of the mug.

“Let me carry that for you,” offered Asiimov, trying his hardest not to make it sound like a demand.

She happily handed her burden over to him and immediately picked up speed, running ahead and boarding the train with Georgia and River. Asiimov hopped through the door shortly before it closed, feeling very much like Indiana Jones.

With all of them together, they could finally breathe and relax, which inevitably gave way to raucous laughter as the adrenaline wore off. Gen wasn’t too happy about losing so much of her tea, which only encouraged the other’s laughter. River noticed that some of the commuters they had run past through the station were also on this train, giving them the same leery and guarded looks they shot them in the station. Except this time they were trapped with our characters on this train.

“This train is taking longer than usual to leave,” said Georgia anxiously.

“Maybe they’re regulating the service or something,” wondered Asiimov as he looked around, trying not to make eye contact with the people he’d spotted in the station.

“Oooooop and now the door’s opening,” said River, narrating the occurrence, “that’s a good sign.”

After a few more moments of this train refusing the leave the platform, Asiimov stuck his head out the open door to investigate. His eyes landed on the platform display which showed the current train and his blood pressure immediately skyrocketed.

“You’ve brought us onto the wrong train you fucking idiots!” he turned around and exploded at them.

This was a Battersea Power Station via Charring Cross train.

“Get up! Get up! GET UP!” screamed Georgia who was suddenly once again possessed by her inner drill sergeant after a very short return to her characteristic chaotic loveliness. She and River sprinted out of the train.

Gen, who was in the middle of taking a sip from her tea, gave off the whimpering of a soaked puppy at the prospect of running, and losing more tea, again. She got up mournfully, but Asiimov immediately took the mug from her hands and they both ran side by side towards the other platform.

As the two bounded up the stairs behind Georgia and River, Asiimov heard the clattering of plastic and discovered, upon looking back at Gen, that she’d dropped her sunglasses. He ran back, quickly picked them up, and encouraged her to keep moving. These, however, weren’t the same Robocop-esque shades she was wearing this afternoon. These were sturdily built from a thick black plastic in the form of a thin rectangular frame with rounded corners. Typical hot-girl-summer shades. But it really wasn’t so implausible for a woman to be carrying multiple pairs of sunglasses to suit different moods, thought Asiimov and continued running.

They reached the platform, the one Asiimov had originally taken them to, and saw that the next Morden via Bank train was due in 2 minutes.

“It’s 11:40 now. We’re all good. It’s only two stops on the tube anyway,” said Georgia with cold comfort, knowing they still weren’t out of the woods yet.

“Here,” said Asiimov as he handed Gen the shades, “you dropped these while we were running.”

She gave them an uncomprehending look and said, “These aren’t mine.”

“You dropped them. While we were running from the other train,” said Asiimov blankly.

“I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

“I swear I heard you drop them…” was Asiimov’s weak and confused reply.

“Maybe I kicked them when running. I saw something black out of the corner of my eyes as at some point, maybe these were it,” she confessed.

Typical is the power a pair of glasses has over a person holding one that it makes them want to try it on without fail. Furthermore, without any owner stepping up to claim them, the law of finders keepers was now in effect. Taking his own glasses off first, the moment he saddled these to his nose the whole world contorted as if it were being looked at through a dark, wet, and hazy fish-eyed lens.

“Woah!!” exclaimed a stunned Asiimov, “these have prescription lenses in them.” His surprise was less at the prescription lenses themselves and more at the fact that he’d manage to find (or retrieve the glasses of) someone more blind than him.

The shades were passed around and tried on by everyone, eliciting similar reactions of astonishment when the tube platforms around them would swirl like a fun-house mirror. A casual observer might’ve wondered what kind of visions those glasses were bringing to these weirdo youths who kept passing them back and forth like a curiosity and tried them on. 

When they finally landed in Georgia’s hands, she decided she’d keep them. As far as either of them was concerned, these were just a random item they found on the floor.

“What use would you have for someone’s prescription lenses though?” asked Asiimov, “they’d just give you a headache after five minutes.”

“I’ll look really good for five minutes at a time then,” responded Georgia mockingly.

Just then, the train pulled into the platform and they got on. The doors slid shut and scarcely had our characters sit down when the doors hissed open again, accompanied by a driver’s announcement.

“This is a passenger announcement,” declared the driver over the PA system in a gruff, crackling, and barely audible voice, “due to a signal failure at Euston Bank Branch, this train is now a Kennington via Charring Cross Service. No longer will this train go via the Bank branch so passengers heading in that direction are advised to get off and wait for the next train. We apologise for any inconvenience this has caused.”

Georgia looked completely twisted with rage and anxiety but she quickly stuffed it down and assumed a composed air, whipping her companions in a frenzy to get off the train. Although the thought of being on the move again was like a spike through Gen’s soul, her fears of losing more tea were lessened as she only had half a mug left. They quickly slipped out of the train and onto the platform where an exodus of passengers abandoning the train flowed around them.

“What the fuck do we do now?” shouted Gen over the racket of the crowd around her.

“We can’t wait for the tube anymore, the next correct one is in four minutes which is too risky,” said Georgia authoritatively.

“How about if we ran there?” asked River, “It’s 11:42. If we really go for it, we can make it there on time.” Not just a part but all of her wanted the morbid thrill of running down the canal at this ungodly hour. She craved this departure from safety more than anything right now.

“But we’re going to have to go down the canal aren’t we?” asked Georgia fearfully.

“It’s the only quickest way from here if we’re going on foot,” said River in her normal volume as the passenger noise subsided.

Georgia winced at this, not just because it was a bad idea but also because it was their only option. Waiting for a train or taxi wouldn’t do. At this point, the bus, with its roundabout route, would take too long.

“Uuuuuuuuurgggggggh ok!” she grunted and sprinted off towards the exit without another word. The rest followed her lead back up the escalators, past the ticket gates, and out the exit. Once out in the open streets, their legs carried them like the wind as they ran as fast as their respective stamina would allow; Georgia in the front, followed by River and flanked by Gen and Asiimov. Before they took flight Asiimov requested the mug from Gen again under the pretext that it might help her run faster, but we all know the real reason. The streets were empty at this time on a Thursday night for everyone was either in a pub, a bar, or at home. This left few obstacles in their way as they ran down Kentish Town Road towards the nearest entrance to the canal.

The cardio was already accomplishing this, but Georgia – perturbed by the danger of going down the canal at this time of night – tried to sober herself up and collect as many of her wits about her as possible. She and her companions would need it for what was about to occur down there.

“Everybody stay close and stay alert!” she screamed back at everyone – with a hint of fear in her voice - as she stopped at the top of the steps to wait for them to catch up.

Once caught up, they dived down the stairs together and hurried towards King’s Cross via the canal. With the only light down there being a faint glow in the air from the obscured streetlamps above, it was almost pitch black. Some flats, whose illuminated windows looked out over the other side of the canal, provided scant illumination. The darkness was matched only by the silence, as their frenzied footfalls and laboured breathing echoed clearly into the night, especially when they passed under a bridge. It was difficult to believe that the only thing separating this seemingly deserted domain and a main road rippling with cars was some foliage, a wall, and a bit of elevation. Compared to its frequent daytime strollers, the canal took on such a different aspect at night that River gleefully felt like they were racing through a place that hadn’t experienced human presence for millennia.  

Every now and again Gen – while still running – would ask Asiimov to pass her the tea so she could wet her parched throat. After a few seconds, Gen began to slow down until she eventually came to a complete standstill to catch her breath. Asiimov stopped with her too, because to leave her alone in this malicious place wouldn’t only be stupid but also indecent.

“Huuuuuuuuuuuuh,” gasped Gen, “I just want to huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh catch my breath huuuuuuuuuuuuh for one second…”

Paying them no mind, Georgia and River kept running. As their footsteps faded ahead of them however, a sound most disconcerting put Asiimov on high alert; that of footsteps running towards them from behind.

Gen said, “Shall we keep goi….”

She was interrupted by Asiimov shushing her.

“Do you hear that?” whispered he with heavy consternation.

They both strained their ears and turned their eyes towards the yawning black behind them. Although they couldn’t see anything in the darkness, the soft and rhythmic thudding of a runner’s footsteps was unmistakeable. Unfortunately, also unmistakeable was the increasing volume of the sound,

TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP

Maybe it was someone on a midnight run, or at least they hoped it was, but just in case it wasn’t, they stared at each other in horror and legged it in the other direction. Not before Gen took a large, preparatory swig of her tea and handed the mug back to him.

Within seconds they had caught up with Georgia and River again, and even though they had recovered all that lost ground, the sound of their formless pursuer was still hot on their heels.

Georgia’s breathing and legwork were operating in tandem with one another like clockwork. She was methodically inhaling and exhaling over three strides each. Had there been any light in that place, one would’ve seen indefatigable concentration on her face, as if she was trying to solve equations in the air before her. All her athletic synchronicity tripped over and broke its ankle when Asiimov ran abreast of her and said through hyperventilating breaths, “Run faster! There’s someone following us.”

They were only halfway through their route down the canal and the closest populated haven wouldn’t be until they were in King’s Cross, thought Georgia. They could either keep running and hope whoever it was doesn’t catch up with them. Or they could stop right now and see this issue through.

“How many do you think?” asked Georgia.

“I only hear one,” said Asiimov, still galloping beside her.

Four versus one. Those were pretty good odds. Maybe this person wouldn’t even engage after seeing the numbers they’ll be up against.

Georgia suddenly disappeared from everyone’s view as she stopped dead in her tracks without any preamble. On the other side of the canal was a construction site which provided ample lighting for her to somewhat perceive her surroundings. She quickly pulled out her phone to check the time – 23:48 – and just as quickly put it back in her pocket. They still had time.

She finally heard those dreaded footsteps approaching them through the gloaming.

“Oi!” she shouted into the void, “Are you following us or something?” It is often suggested that making your chaser as afraid of you as you are of them levels the playing field. Whether fear or curiosity, something made their pursuer slow down as the footsteps lost their speed and insistence. Judging that something potentially nasty was about to go down, the others joined her.

“So you are following us! What do you fucking want?” demanded Georgia in a caustic voice that could eat through cement.

“You have my sunglasses,” replied a male voice. As if from behind a black velvet curtain, the owner of the voice stepped out of the darkness and into the soft light. They could barely make the stranger out in the gloom, but they could see enough of him to know he wasn’t really tall or built. He looked only slightly taller than the shortest one in the party: Georgia. All in all, he didn’t look like much of a threat, save for the switchblade knife he was gripping tightly. The way the light from the construction site glinted off the knife, making it shine in the dark compared to its silhouetted wielder, singled it out to be the only thing about this person our characters should be afraid of.

They all saw the knife simultaneously, it was impossible not to, and it immediately put them on edge. Even Georgia was perturbed by its sight, however, she wasn’t going to let that show.

The stranger took a step closer towards them and repeated in the same measured and soft voice, “You have my sunglasses.”

Just as Georgia was about to ask what the fuck he was talking about, she realised what he was referring to.

She pulled out the coveted shades, the ones they found in Camden Town Tube Station, from her bum bag and held them in the dwindling light.

“Are these what you’re talking about?” she asked.

Although they couldn’t see his face properly, there was a shift in his posture which looked like recognition.

“Well if these are yours, take them. We don’t want any trouble,” said Georgia, wanting this to be over.

The man said nothing as he stood there like a menacing statue.

“Look, we’re in a massive rush,” said Georgia impatiently, “I’m just going to put these on the ground,” she bent down low and slow to put them down, “and we’ll just leave. This doesn’t have to get ugly.” She had seen people in films and TV shows saying similar things in such situations, and things turned ugly each time. She just never guessed those words would be coming out of her mouth.

Just as they were turning around to leg it, the man gasped, “STOP!”. It wasn’t a loud or threatening shout, just a very sudden one. They all obliged.

“I’m not here for my sunglasses, I’ll get them one way or another anyway. I’m here for you all,” he said while pointing the blade straight at them.

As he took another step forward, it put him right in the light of an observation lamp from the construction site and they could finally see what their assailant looked like. He was just a kid. No older than 16, small and scrawny, acne scars still fresh on his cheeks which were framed by his short hair that hung loosely in curls. He certainly didn’t look like the type to be carrying a switchblade around, but here we are. His timid appearance probably singled him out as a punching bag in the vicious sparring ring that is high school.

London was notorious for its knife crime, each year being a record-breaking one for the number of stab victims. Being in this situation was a frightful reminder for Asiimov that a huge majority of knife crimes are committed by the underaged. The only thing more dangerous than a person with a knife is an undisciplined person with a knife.

Given the revelation that their attacker was basically a child, even though the kid had probably cleared puberty by this age, everything he said and did from this point forth was rendered immature and squeaky, but no less dangerous.

“I left those sunglasses on the ground to see who would pick them up, then I’d follow them. Have you every wanted to follow someone and see where they end up?” asked the kid thoughtfully.

No one answered but each was thinking different versions of the same thing; the thought of randomly following someone had indeed crossed their mind, but it was a very quick and unwelcome crossing because the idea was so incredibly wrong and stupid. Whether an intrusive thought or strange curiosity, most have given the idea consideration but few have, thankfully, followed through with it.

“You need to answer that question,” said the kid levelly, “have you ever followed a rando?”

“Not really,” said Asiimov, clearing his throat, “at least not in the sense that you mean. My walk back home from work take me through some secluded areas at night. and sometimes if there’s a woman walking ahead of me I’m always worried about whether she thinks I’m following her. Of course I’m not following her, and am simply going home, but she doesn’t know that. I want this person to feel at ease and be able to walk the street at night without having to worry, but I can’t exactly run up to them tap them on the shoulder, and tell them they have nothing to be worried about because I’m not following them.” He had become self-conscious of how out of hand his nervous rambling was getting, so he quickly wrapped up, “Sooooooooo, yeaahhhhhh, sorry if that wasn’t the answer you were looking for.”

The kid’s manner relaxed for a moment and with a warm smile he said in the voice of a teacher, “Don’t be sorry, good effort!”

“Sorry to interrupt this little exchange,” said River with mounting annoyance, “but what were you going to do with the person who picked up your sunglasses? Stab them?”

“That was the plan,” said the kid casually, as if even he didn’t know what he was doing nor the severity of it.

“WHAT?” screamed River all of a sudden, “So your goal is to kill someone, and the sunglasses are just the bait. Why don’t you just go and kill someone without all this nonsense? What if the person who picked up the glasses never ended up in a situation where you could kill them?”

“Then I would try again with someone else…” said the kid uncertainly.

“So you would keep dropping sunglasses until you managed to kill someone. How many sunglasses do you think it would take? And after your first kill, then what?”

The kid was visibly becoming overwhelmed by all these questions.

“I…. I don’t know! I will just keep trying,” yapped the child. This was River’s idea of talking the kid down and making him see some sense, and even though she was talking sense, it was making none to him, hence his tightening grip on the knife.

“And what if the person you followed was in a group that outnumbered you, like now?” asked River smugly.

This seemed to positively stump the kid because he had no retort other than a sad and twitching face. Clearly he hadn’t thought this whole thing properly. Realising that they were dealing with nothing more than a neurotic cocktail of insanity and immaturity, our characters took this as their cue to leave. With the kid’s head hung low, they slowly pivoted on the spot and began slowly walking towards King’s Cross. Immediately breaking into a run would’ve been risky for it may have attracted the kid’s attention.

Georgia checked her phone for the time, it was 23:51. She whispered to the group, “We’ll walk till the next bend in the canal which will put enough distance between us and him, then we’ll run to Simmons. We still have time, somehow…”

They continued walking in tense silence, constantly expecting the kid to scream after them and resume their pointless confrontation. Gen kept taking small sips to finish off what was left of her tea. In the deathly hush, they could only hear the sound of their own footsteps. Even in such complete stillness, they didn’t hear what happened next until it was almost too late.

Just as they reached the bend in the canal and were about to set off on a crazed run again, they all heard the light tapping of quick footsteps right behind them. Their hearts first sank over having to deal with this kid again, but then those sinking hearts froze when they turned around and found the kid hurtling towards them knife-first. He was holding the thing with both hands like a bayonet, and so quickly and silently had he caught up with them that the kid was within arm's length by the time they realised what was happening.

Even Georgia froze in fear. With a knife quickly travelling towards them from centimetres away, they could, despite the darkness, judge the scene in slow motion and with perfect clarity. Small details jumped out at them as if these would be the last they’d ever witness. The kid had taken his shoes off and was silently running towards them in his socks. His hand perspired and quivered as he held the knife. Three geese floated down the canal, completely indifferent to this scene.

Each in their own way asked themselves, “So this is how I go?” River closed her eyes in acceptance and waited for the impact. Asiimov stared at the shiny point of the knife and waited for impact. Georgia bunched up her fists and was ready to attack. Meanwhile, Gen’s eyes lit up fantastically with the awareness of what she was in her hand. At the final moment, when the knife would be in their flesh were it any closer, Gen brought down her right arm and smashed the mug of tea over the kid’s head. All that remained in her hand was the mug’s large handle, the rest of it lay in pieces around the kid who was rolling around on the floor while holding his bleeding head in pain. So quickly had Gen performed her heroism that the others remained petrified in shock for a few more moments after the kid dropped like a sack of bricks.

Asiimov was too busy still processing the fact that he almost got stabbed to pay any mind to the fact that his late grandmother’s mug was lost in neutralising his attacker.

What a fucking trooper, thought Georgia. Such a blow would’ve knocked a normal child straight out but this one was still conscious and ready to go again…

“Arrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhh” screamed the kid. His shaky and bloodied hand was reaching for the knife which had fallen within arm’s reach of him.

When Gen, flying high on adrenaline, noticed the kid’s attempt for the knife, she quickly shoved everyone to bring their senses back. They could’ve beat the kid to the knife and thrown it away, leaving him completely harmless, but the moment they were themselves again they followed their first and only instinct which was to run away.

And so they did, faster than any of them had ever done before. Stamina meant nothing to them, it was a petty trifle as they ran for their lives. Upon straining her ears, River – who was on their flank – could hear the kid’s footsteps behind them, albeit stumbling and irregular. While running through the darkness, Georgia – who was leading them – thought she discerned the vague outline of some stairs as she ran past them. Quickly darting back to take a look, to her relief, not only were they actually stairs but they also were an exit off the canal, leading to the street above.

“Psssssssssssssssssssst!” she hissed at her party ahead of her, “This way!”

She swung her arms up the stairs as one by one her companions made a U-turn, ran back and then past her, up the stairs.

Emerging on the street they found themselves under the yellow nimbus of a streetlamp. Neither of them had any idea where exactly they were but they knew staying here would be a terrible idea. Especially since they could hear the staggering footsteps of that insane child approaching the staircase.

Upon checking the time, Georgia found that it was 23:55. “Keep going straight! If we run along the canal we’ll soon be in King’s Cross and we can get to Simmons from there!” Georgia whispered, not wanting to give away their location. It was a futile attempt anyway because the sound of the footsteps suddenly turned metallic as the child was heaving himself up those metal stairs.

Now that they were running in safer and better-lit territory, they could once more focus on their original goal of getting to Simmons. However, they weren’t out of the woods yet as the kid had also made it up on the street and was running after them while brandishing his knife.

Two bright points of light appeared from one of the streets ahead of them and were approaching with great speed. As the lights got closer, a third one, dimmer and more orange than the first two with some lettering across it, appeared above them. Now the source of those lights was close enough to be discerned as a taxi by our characters. And not just any taxi, it was a black cab and a vacant one at that.

Despite there having been no discussion about this, everyone raised their hands simultaneously to hail the cab, such was their desperation to get out of this situation that they’d grasp at the first life raft that floated their way.

The cab slowed to a halt just a couple of metres ahead of them, into which they all dived one after the other.

“Get us to King’s Cross Simmons please!” gasped Georgia before she even had a chance to sit down. The driver, a greyed-up old man with a face so sharp and angular that it’d fit right in a trigonometry textbook, gave an obliging nod and careened the cab back in the direction it came from. Grasped by an odd curiosity, they all looked out the rear window and saw the disappearing figure of the kid waving his knife frustratedly in the air.

“You lot awight back there?” asked the driver’s radio voice through the microphone.

“Mate we really need to get to King’s Cross Simmons before midnight, is there any chance you can get us there within the next three minutes?” asked Georgia as kindly as she could.

A strange smile which crawled on the driver’s face was the only warning they had of the sudden acceleration of the cab. They were pushed back into their seats as the car picked up fantastic speed and went dizzyingly flying through the cramped streets of King’s Cross. This was the first time any of them felt like they could relax since they left Asiimov and River’s flat, and their relief was expressed through such a deep sigh that even the driver looked back to ensure everything was fine.

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, a prodigious lethargy was seeping into their heads, and most especially, their legs. Having gone completely non-verbal, they sat there simply enjoying the spacious interior of this black cab, a vehicle neither of them was in the correct tax bracket to be riding frequently. Staring out of those massive windows and watching the streets blur past felt like looking out the panoramic windows of some high-speed train.

Gen gently tapped Asiimov on the shoulder before she said plaintively, “I’m really sorry about your mug Asiimov. I know how much it meant to you and I really wasn’t thinking when I swung it at that fucker. I just thought I had something in my hand and I could use it to maybe stop him…”

With a reassuring smile, he replied, “Come on now Gen, there’s no need to apologise. We should be thanking you!” The others murmured vague and tired agreements. He continued, “Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you used it. You saved our lives with it! I’m sure my granny wouldn’t mind her present being used to save four lives.”

Gen rooted around in her bag while saying the next bit, “Well, if it’s any reassurance, I managed to keep this…” She pulled out the handle of his mug, its only surviving piece. “If you wanted you could make a clay mug and stick this handle onto it… I don’t know, it’s just an idea.”

A sublime warmth suffused over his heart at this. Although the loss of the mug had, in some deep corner of his being, bothered him, her preserving at least a piece of the mug eliminated all grief.

“It’s a brilliant idea!” he beamed as he carefully slipped the handle in his pocket.

After a few moments, the cab screeched to a halt right outside King’s Cross Simmons.

Georgia looked at the time on the cab’s dashboard, it was 23:59!

“How much do I owe you mate?” she asked while simultaneously typing out a message to Robyn saying…

We are outside! Coming in right now!

“Twenty-two quid,” the driver said casually.

Georgia tried her best to hide her shock and pain at paying such an exorbitant price for a three-minute cab ride. She succeeded, for the most part.

Out of the cab, they made straight for the Simmons entrance, flashed their IDs and headed in. It was a miracle how many people had fit in such a small space. It was a tiny venue, about half the size of your average pub, with cramped walls and barely any space to walk when empty. Yet somehow, the abundance of dancing, drinking, and laughing people blurring the boundaries of the room made the place seem endless.

Robyn had an entire table to themselves and their party. They sat there next to Lish, sipping sullenly on a drink. They wore two party hats, each supported by their space buns underneath, giving them the appearance of some sophisticated alien. Our characters squeezed through the crowd and approached the table which they spotted immediately upon entry. Their arrival couldn’t have been better timed. From one end of the table appeared Georgia, Gen, River, and Asiimov, whose arrival wiped the sullen look from Robyn’s face, replacing it with rabid excitement. From the other end of a table appeared a caterpillar cake, three sparklers that fizzed and popped shards of harmless flame everywhere, and a bottle of Prosecco, each held by more of Robyn’s friends. This amplified Robyn’s elation a thousandfold.

Asiimov checked his wrist to find that it had just struck midnight.

The DJ suddenly stopped playing One Kiss by Dua Lipa and everyone began singing Happy Birthday. When I say everyone, I mean everyone in the whole bar. A splendid chorus rippled through the crowd, ending in a rapturous cheer that could break the sky open.

With eyes edged with tears of splendour, a smile so perfect in its radiance illuminated Robyn’s face. A smile worth dying for, outshining even the crazy sparklers which were stabbed into their caterpillar cake inches away from their face. When Georgia, Gen, Asiimov, and River looked upon that smile, it seemed like all their trials along their journey felt like troubles no more but essential steps along their pilgrimage to witness such a heavenly expression of happiness.