INXS, “Suicide Blonde” The U.S., some town. A year and a half ago. “I can’t believe I let you drag me into this place,” Bernardius said, his voice full of nobility, regret, and paternal feeling. “I agree, this place lacks class, but from time to time even you should peep into such a hole, if you get my meaning, Mr. Bernardius,” Greg said. “I’m sure these places didn’t exist in your time.” “You have no idea what places existed in my time,” said Bernardius. They sat at a table in a roadside strip bar in another new town, not far from where the circus was set up. The cramped, smoky room was illuminated with red, yellow, and blue lights and smelled of alcohol, unwashed bodies, and cheap vanilla perfume. The dancers were apathetic, and more than a few looked as if they could have had grandchildren. The blue light gave a ghastly hue to their bodies, producing the illusion of corpses dancing around the poles. Greg didn’t like the place. It was the kind of place where bad things tended to happen.
