The car pulls to a slow stop by the sidewalk, headlights dipped down the vague street. The atmosphere is inky, black, save the flickering golden light of a lantern, beckoning me. I tip the driver, he nods and the car slides away.
Mesmerised, I move towards the light. My shadow weaves and wanes, following me like a damned private investigator. The click of my shoes, echoing on the paving slabs, slips into time with fragments of jazz, fractured beats drifting out into the damp night air.
The muffled clink of glasses and laughter becomes distinct as I draw closer. I push the bell, stub out my cigarette on the pavement. The door swings open, that warm glow illuminating the street for a moment, then swishes shut behind me. I'm in.