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“So?” Said the other.
“So, I think he’s left someone in it.” He said.
The other boy shrugged and shook his head: ”Whatever.”
“Watch out for a guy in a denim jacket.” Said the attendant’s boy. “I just want to have a quick look.”
He scurried over to the camper, shrouded deep in shadow now, outside of the range of the streetlamps.
He pulled up short, the hairs bristling on the back of his neck, and stared at the dark windows trying vainly to see some kind of motion inside. Nothing.
Nervously keeping his distance, he sidled around to the back doors and the suddenly stopped. Was that something? A shape in the depths of the van’s interior? Movement? No. Nothing.
But his eyes were transfixed by the shadows inside and although his mind tried to dismiss the phantoms of his imagination, he was unable to pull himself away.
The boy felt a rush of blood to his cheeks in a furious blush and then, against his every right-minded wish, he took an involuntary step forward toward the van doors.
His breathing became laboured and he fought to regain control of his errant legs. With a start he broke the unseen compulsion and turned and ran.
“Jesus.” Said his friend. “What did he have in there? A shitload of porn?”
“What?” Said the boy and then when realisation dawned, adjusted himself to hide his suddenly acquired erection. “Er, no.” He said, confused and embarrassed. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
He hurried his friends away from he car park and off into town, eager to put distance between himself and the strange van.
*
There was something about modern nightclubs that appealed to Vincent at his most primal level. As one who had a closer relationship with his animal instincts than most, this was significant.
He enjoyed the nondescript town clubs most of all, those that abandoned any pretence at theme or purpose and gave themselves over to the simple, basic transaction of debauchery for money.
It was, to his mind, the fairest deal these costumed and pampered fools could hope for. For a few quid they were divested of their myriad limitations, social responsibilities and crippling inhibitions. The lucky ones were, at any rate. In the heat of the darkness, in the thick soup of flashing lights, smoke and thunderous, relentless sound these pitiful sheep were momentarily set free.
Vincent saluted them with a wry smile.
He spent a few minutes soaking up the atmosphere, pushing his way from one end of the crowded club to the other. He wasn’t going anywhere, he had no specific destination in mind, he moved only to touch the dancers and drinkers. It was important to him to get the lay of the land implanted firmly in his mind. Not the physical geography of the place, you understand, that was done in a brief moment of glancing around. For Vincent the real geometry of the place was a fluid, shifting landscape of hot bodies and sweat.