Boys in uniforms with army caps. With bulletproof vests, helmets. There’s an oddly controlled atmosphere in the club. Everyone is standing up straight, nobody pukes behind the bar, no pogoing, no fistfighting. Civilized young people with the expectation of an event. Orderly young people. Even grime suddenly seems sweet-natured. Gentle. No longer angry. Nobody’s angry anymore. Nobody dares to chat anyone else up, it could be unwanted. It could be intrusive. After a brief phase of civil revolt against political correctness, which was catalyzed by right-wing nationalist bots, after a brief pause in the British collective agreement that openly stated hate and racism are lower-class matters, after a brief time of offensive hate and contempt, now

A new era of progress has been reached. Well-trained people having fun.

The music is loud, the young people stand around shyly and wait for another shy person who is less shy to save them from their own shyness. Hannah has spotted a boy she can imagine engaging in a sex act with. The sex act she can imagine has its origins in a thousand pornos that served for her like everyone else as her only sexual education. The boy looks at Hannah, and Hannah looks at the boy, then she brushes past him toward the washrooms. She probably saw this move in a TV series. Or a porno. The boy follows her. Right. And now, now Hannah stands in a bright, unisex washroom. The boy enters the room, and at this point Hannah’s fantasy ends. She stands opposite a stranger in a too-bright washroom kitted out with too many mirrors. What good are all these technological advances when people are still people?

“Hello,” says Hannah. The young man nods and unzips the fly of his army overalls. His penis sticks out like a baby’s arm in the bright washroom. He turns so the camera catches his penis at the right angle. Cameras in loos, offices, bars, brothels, wherever. “What now?” says the young man. Hannah’s hands tremble. Hannah doesn’t want to do anything. She doesn’t want to deal with the baby’s arm, she suddenly wants to go to bed. Without him, that is. And anyway, she doesn’t have a bed. She has a mattress and friends, and she wants to go to them. Hannah sees her life elapse in the course of a few seconds. That is, the life that will not happen. She will definitely not find out what sex is today.

The boy slowly zips up his pants again and leaves the washroom. Hannah looks straight into the camera, and wonders for a second whether the bars on her face really make her unrecognizable

MI5 PIET

“Um, no.”

HANNAH

Imagines that tomorrow half of London will give laughing smiley emojis to her fail on some website. “Now get out of here, you stupid cow. Fuck off and don’t take yourself so seriously,”

Mumbles the

BOXER

HOBBIES: Rilke

HEALTH PROFILE: top