Weed and Warren were friends. Weed was into astronomy, quantum physics, chaos theory, geology, wildlife, Marquez and Bach. Warren was into football, booze, girls, stereos, psychotropics and flash motors — and, especially, girl pop groups who had themselves photographed wearing flimsy football kit, waving champagne bottles and buckets of pills from flash cars. He had a recurrent fantasy about Sharon from Procurements, who he adored from afar, in the back of a sports car, wearing a football shirt and drinking champagne. Weed and Warren were the best of friends. Perhaps they were the best of friends only because they lived in the same building within three floors of each other and worked for the same company. Perhaps this was reason enough to be soul-buddies in the vast, dizzying universe of Daikon AirCon. This was quite possibly reason enough to be soul buddies in this vast, dizzying universe.

‘Happening to us all.’

‘You got canned?’ asked Weed with incredulity.

‘Nah! I got a new job. Got someone else’s job. On top of my own job. It was someone else got canned. Thirty-six someone else’s. MDMA/E was the group that got it. Now we got it too, like; mental it is at work. Snowed under; up to here in it, innit. Started at eight yesterday morning. Knocked off at eleven last night and that was only after pleading period pains or whatever. Same again tonight, you watch. I got a few nights of the rag and then I’m going to have to think of another excuse.’

‘Try telling them you have peristalsis in your intestines. That always works for me. They say “poor dear,” tell you to wrap up warmly and send you home. Or say you have a rod in your eye. That’s another good one.

‘By the way, Warren, it’s nice to see you but where’s the bog? I’m going to rupture.’

‘Just down here on an errand. Get a chance to get out you go for it, know what I mean. Suck you dry they will. Take your time about it, have a smoke, a coffee at that spot on the corner if you’re quick. Drop in for an ogle at Sharon in Procurements. That Stonewall, know why he has no door on his office? Open door policy, bollocks. He just wants to earwig, know what I mean? Anyway, they won’t let him have one. No budget for it. Just over there, mate. Where you see that yellow and black doobry going down like out of that film Alien? Just behind there. But watch it, it’s where the pricks hang out. Have one for me. More than three shakes is a wank. See ya.’