The Small Hours Los Angeles, California

It was a dark, cold morning in March and the clocks were striking three. Rob, John and JB sat motionless in the small hours, surrounded by the complete darkness of an almost featureless room. They had not moved in several hours and in the insignificant illumination of the starless night, their bright-red ocular-protectors seemed as colourless and monotone as their party issue coveralls and Welling ... more

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