remote cards

Girl in blue is off the shoulder and foreign. Serves me tea, serves me coffee. And I still can’t make out where it is she is from. Her hair is a ruffled bob cut, all flared up, like she is some kind of sexy girl triceratops. Girl in black, wears stars around her neck. She wears a sleeveless V-neck T and black jeans. She walks like sex. Her hair all tied back and interesting. That V shows enough cleavage to lead the eye, her lack of sleeves shows enough scars to lead the eye.

Downstairs. An oddly laid out venue. Cavern like, with soft squidgy cube seats. Listening to an absurd cover version of one of my favourite Mt.Zion tracks that jingles around in a fashion that misses the point of the original entirely. It is bizarre and disconcerting. While the addition of Sigur Ros to pre-gig soundtrack is unsurprising.

The talk around me covers the world. Trips to Iceland and Stockholm. South Africa and not South Africa. A year in Delhi.

Front row. Long dark hair, under a black woollen hat. Red phone in her hand, she scrolls and manipulates. Pink Converse on her feet. Dark Asian girl tied back black hair, tight. Red jumper with a flower. Her friend isn’t as darkly skinned, wears a striped red and purple jumper, with socks that match.