The golden doorway leads to a room with lavish couches and a blonde with a cigarette holder blowing a soft stream of smoke upwards at 45 degrees. Her left hand hangs over the couch with an absinthe at an expensive tilt. Knee bent, foot resting just next to a bald black man with corduroys and a waistcoat – no shirt. He’s looking down at his shoes.
A lady with expensive perfume takes your hand and leads you to a corner, introduces you to artists and performing types, illustrators and magazine writers. Creatively employed but right now in pursuit of the art of nothing.
The room is green and you have arrived.