He’s too fucking old to wade through the staggering variety of gatherings for young people in New York to drag Neiman out of there by the collar. It’d be a public service to anyone who has to interact with him in the next few days. Who’s he trying to kid, anyway? Neiman doesn’t have friends, he doesn’t enjoy public gatherings or dance music, he’s like a little aquarium animal darting out of its shell long enough to buy speed.

Fletcher will pick him up from the station, shame-faced in the same clothes as the night before. He’ll recover him eventually.