The unfortunate urine smell continued into the bar. If you can call it a bar. It was more like a dungeon. The inhabitants of The Wasteland were, you guessed it, dressed like vampires. All gothed up. Black eyeliner, blood-red lips, piercings coming out of every orifice, tattoos of prison quality, and that was just the guys. The girls looked freakishly similar but were obviously on a blood-only diet. I’d never seen so many emaciated chicks in one place. Curves, people! Embrace them! ‘So, you like?’ asked Charlize, in a gravelly voice. ‘Ah, which part? Am I the human sacrifice here tonight? This place is ultra-creepy!’ I couldn’t even play along as if I liked it. We ambled over to the bar, which was a piece of wood held up with old car tyres. The roof was so low you had to do a kind of squat walk. In six-inch heels this was not becoming of a lady. The room was full of that wet-feeling smoke machine haze that did no favours for my complexion. I really thought those died when the millennium ticked over.
