It is 22:50. Cock whistle music is playing from the cyberspace. Antti is gone, Tomi is hiding. Long inefficient walks, searching for a second skin, not too sexy. The Chinese let us down, but discount oversize stockings found us. Despite our guides' best efforts, a local source for filling the blenders has still not been found. Major reformations in the Outer Circle are causing confusion. Even Eeman's plates are gone. But Roolinoppa says that everything is ready. The sweat is condensing. Gold and silver facelift for sauna hasa been prepared. An outsider remote controlled by The Pit gave the name for the closing night. The reach is already at least 1500 meters.
It is 03:30. Eighties Estonian synthpop is playing on the PA. Tomi is luxuriously sleeping on a brown velvet armchair. Baby water is still flowing. Our fish fell to the floor. I wonder if the original fish is safe? Nobody is answering the phone in our studio. All the booze has drained into The Pit. And it is repeating. We are the last people at a noise gig. The museum will be gone tomorrow, as will Antti. We worked on Sunday. We did not even go into the fish worshipping church. We will all go to Hell. But The Pit will persist.
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