Page 127 of Tapeworld Induction

They walked into a kitchen-cum-living room. There were lots of these in London’s flats, space being at a premium back in the day, when the population level was still growing. Isaak’s own place was a studio, but this was different, less comfortable. This room barely served as a kitchen, much less as a space for entertaining, and there’d be a cramped bedroom down a hallway, plus a shower and toilet. The place was dimly lit and smelled of mould. Bad, barely tolerable. You wouldn’t want to live there, but visiting was okay if you kept it short.

The flat looked otherwise fine. You wouldn’t be able to tell this was a squat in one of the tallest towers of East London. That was until you looked out the window and saw the decrepit streets. Poverty, abandonment, no town services of any kind. Chaos spread like a virus in these parts, outside the City walls.

Jeff caught him looking out the window.

“Beautiful, right?” His expression of absolute joy betrayed no sarcasm, no irony. “Always dreamed of living here, my folks did.” He turned to Dylan with a wide grin. “Glad I can live the dream!”

Both Isaak and Dylan simply stared at him, unsure what to say.

“Cool, cool. So, anyway, what can I get you? I got milk – not from a cow, but I can get some of that if you really wanted it… I know a guy who knows a guy, if you know what I mean.”

Isaak shook his head, expecting Dylan’s reaction.

“I’m going to forget you just said that,” she said, her tone firm.

“Uh… okay. I’ve got beer – the real kind, none of that synth-shit – cranberry juice, and… some leftover eggnog, believe it or not.”

Eugh… eggnog…

“Just water,” Isaak pleaded. “You want anything?”

“I’m fine,” Dylan replied, arms crossed.

Gyrating the one hundred and eighty degrees to the sink, Jeff repeated the word “Fine” and started the tap into an old-looking glass. It might have been washed but Isaak wouldn’t have been able to tell. And he’d rather not think about it too deeply.

“Here you go, buddy.”

Jeff put the glass in front of Isaak, on top of a faded action-movie-branded coaster. Isaak wasn’t feeling very brave right now, so he didn’t take an immediate swig.

“So, the fuck do you want from me?” Jeff hunched his shoulders, a quizzed look on his face.

“Need you to peek into my head. Analyse my latest tape ride. Elodie said you have the tech.”

Between puffs on the synthtube, Jeff pointed at the paused video on the TV screen on the other side of the room, his eyes squinting.

“You see that there? Absolute cinema.” He coughed and unpaused the TV.

A younger man was looking at another, older man, who was facing away from him, through a small opening between tall chairs with people in cowboy hats, jeans, and leather vests. Reflections played against the slot machines all around them in several rows. A myriad of lights, mostly reds, greens, yellows. Lots of yellow.

The old guy didn’t realise he was being watched. A zoom-in brought us closer to the younger man, the look of a cop or detective. Behind him was an unfocused blur of light.

Jeff paused it again.

“See that? Cinema! C-I-N-E-M-A! This director, man, I’m telling you. You see this, doll?”

Dylan visibly recoiled. “Call me that again and I’ll break your hand.” She flashed a grin at Isaak, which Jeff didn’t notice. She was enjoying playing the baddie.

“Like he broke his, you mean?” A wild demeanour settled on Jeff as he started to test their limits again.

Dylan uncrossed her toned arms in another show of her strength. “Leave him alone.”

Isaak intervened. “It’s okay. Please, go on, Jeff.” He was used to Jeff’s stream of consciousness rants on the beauty of cinema and the genius of certain directors. Isaak knew he wouldn’t get to his point until he was done.

Jeff glanced at Dylan, a little worried, then looked back to Isaak.

“Where others would simply shoot the scene, this guy was like, ‘No! Let’s shoot it really slow.’ I mean, really slow. Let the audience breathe in the scene! Breathe this whole scene in. You see the cop? He’s a perv. And so is the old man. But the old man is much worse than the cop. The director is challenging the audience. You want to pick a side and obviously you side with the cop, but actually he’s a pretty fucking shitty dude himself.”

“And why would he do that?” Isaak was okay with letting this play out. In fact, he was worried Jeff would kick them out if they stopped his diatribe. Well, he’d try.