8pm last night
She leans back cooly on the brewery benches, eyeshadow nuclear orange, eyeliner so sharp it could kill.
"Have you been to cutthroat karaoke yet?" She asks. "It's so fun. The crowd decides when people get cut by doing a scissors motion with their fingers. They literally boo people off stage! Only the really good people get to finish their song. I love it!"
2am this morning
I lock eyes with the host as he smiles, doing a little dance with his shoulders that makes everyone else disappear.
We drape ourselves over sofas and shag carpets in his living room. He gets on the keys, David on the box drum. He sings to Coldplay and his voice is off-key and grating and honest and beautiful. We sing along, fireplace roaring in the background, walls reverberating out-of-tune choruses.
I'm sure you can tell which karaoke I prefer.