Ike and Tina Turner

Rijn Collins Northcote, 2007 They took the chairs closest to the door, leaving me the couch. I realised too late that this blocked my exit. The tall one stared at me, his mouth slightly open. Sideburns grinned. And then the CD player whirred into action and gave me an omen, straight from 1971: the bluesy wail of I Smell Trouble. And I did. Fuck, did I ever.