We’re walking down the corridor, crossing the path of an elderly gentleman who’s more interested in us than he should be. “Good day,” he says... as if he expects an invitation. Which is not forthcoming. “1025,” I say to Jason, just to say something, and open the door to my room. Exits and entries, you always remember. Jason is hesitantly following me into the room, it really could be his first time. He’s not asking any questions, not giving any answers, he’s not in love with me, he’s just. “Orange juice, orange juice, orange juice….”The bizarre and surreal chant was totally unexpected as it met Belinda’s ears. It was their carrion-call. Many clapped along until it became a jumble of noise, slowly morphing into what they had all come to see.“Strip …strip …strip …” now prevailed. Not a continual, whispering chatter of subliminal urge this time. It was a hand-clapping, foot-stomping drum of determined insistence. In Belinda’s increasingly compliant and befuddled state, the resolute. More

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