BY THE LIGHTS OF PICCADILLY, by Nadia Martin

I watched images of a pouting statuesque beauty burst in two dimensions, frolicking inside the framed void, peering nonchalantly into the private room. Between flashes of the red swirling backdrop, I cast my eye over the nightstand, harbouring detritus of a life I knew too well: gin bottles, a candy storefront line-up of pills, Pepto-Bismol…