sounds awful tbf. I still wake up in a cold sweat when I have fevered dreams about Output. I haven’t seen Ed since 4:00am. I look over both floors of both clubs; nothing. I send out furious texts: mate please tell me you are alright. Please let me know you got back ok. No response. 5:30am, and the lights come on. He’s nowhere in sight. I wake gasping for air, and my wife comforts me saying shhh shhh its ok. Your friend the hapless English cad didn’t go missing. He just went home to mum after a few too many drinks is all. The thought of losing Ed to that Ibizian father son duo who take friends into the mountains is absolutely more than I could take. Add in that it would happen during a 123 bpm Solomun sludge fest, and forget about it.
