Dylan reads a lot of popularist literature and spends time culling an intellectual mandate from the internet. It’s easier for him to learn who he is through other people’s interests. ‘They call it chemsex,’ he says, ‘but it’s just fucking on drugs, not something new or whatever.’ Perverse curiosity crinkles his brow and he looks at my feet. ‘You ever done it?’ Only if anti-depressants count, I say. The mixture of depersonalisation and impossible to culminate erections were certainly something. I could go for hours and feel nothing, not even remorse. ‘Most people like smoking crack,’ he says.

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