Punkt Now

"What will tear us apart again?" West London's premier faux activist, Macy Broun, asked of her small but inebriated audience, huddled under the beer garden's solitary heater. "I tell you now: The love of love is the route to all evil. You may well scoff, sat there in the collective warmth. What's that? A little spark as your thighs touch? A little frission? That's fine. You, Bryan, you got a little late night hard-on despite the cold? That's lovely comrade. No really, that's no problem. A little wood ain't the problem. That's not the tyranny that drags mankind through millennia of suffering. It's love that's put us on the road, it's love that's behind the wheel and it's love that's jammed the accelerator down with half a brick."

"Hey nutjobs, we're calling last orders."

"Fuck off." then after a pause "Bryan, be a honey will you and get more sambuccas."

Macy climbs down from the table and weaves her way off to find the toilets. The small but inebriated audience eye each other nervously until one pipes up.

"We can't go through this every time."

"She'll be okay."

"Yeah but will it be before or after she has us firebombing Paperchase? I mean seriously, I had an unmarked police car across the street again the other day. I'm sure we're on some watchlist. Some dedicated unit is trying to work out why the Westbourne Grove 'cell' becomes active only every six months. Fucking clockwork."

"I'm scared."

"We're all scared. But we're in too deep."

"What the hell are you all talking bout? We can just walk away now, before it goes too far."

"It's too late man. She won't let us. She's a monster. We've got to see this through, whatever the consequences."

From inside "Hey nutjobs. Will one of you please come in here and peel your leader off the floor."

The small but inebriated audience eye each other nervously.