Two artists chatting in the edgy Pointesan nightclub Mayfault 54.
Artist A: ‘I was down at the Flaxa Gallery earlier. It’s really inaccessible, all double yellow lines – you can’t stop anywhere near the building. This security guy came out waving his arms. He was wearing a fluorescent jacket and a pair of shades.’
Artist B: ‘Did you make an appointment?’
Artist A: ‘Nope. They advertise all these shows but no-one that I know has ever been inside…most of my mates can’t even find the gaff. I kinda found it by mistake but managed to get this photo before that clown started running towards me. I just drove off as he started taking photo’s of my vehicle. I’m sure I was being followed home by an unmarked car. ‘
Artist B: ‘I’ve never heard of it myself.’
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A nondescript warehouse in the outer Ziller business park district.
Grey faced Agent X presses stop on the Dictaphone and seals it in a brown package marked ‘Halsedio.’
He takes a long final drag on his cigarette and grimmaces to himself.
He walks into the main sorting hall and tosses it into the looming Integrated Mail processor as he begins the late shift.
