Accidental overcoats and sponsored walks was the prerequisite when need for ultimate reprieve took precious precedence. Annie and Alan, who would sit for hours on end per cigarette-invaded session, warbling their way through multi-emotive pitfalls of poisonous antidepressant. Heaving for him and delicately gathered by the gob, whilst hers amounted to tear-strewn moments of toilet time hearsay – namely this simultaneous obsession with fondness and farewell, driven only ever by unofficial blood and diamond.

Yes, they shrank to a penny-sized version of their very own person, abstaining and universally perishing at the pace of life’s greatest case of the unknown: A sort of shy, hospitalised caper wherein these wildly withdrawn people attempt to fall back into line, brought back to life by way of seriously insinuated upheaval.

Early am. art classes and thankless wrought-iron tasks, wherein dishevelled people were forced to push themselves to taste the eagerness of unremitting pain, times too many again. And a bathing body of bruised and battered brain lays itself lethargically across that of the despondent tiles of a horror-movie’s favourite-best shower scene.

Soon as Concrete meets Mind, soon as neither managed to matter.