On Sunday night, I went around to a friend’s place to watch two sports events on the television (the second leg of the final of the Mexican Primera Divisíon Apertura between Monterrey and Santos Laguna, and the Pittsburgh Steelers-Baltimore Ravens game). I took the Metro which I always enjoy doing, and walked the 15 minutes to his apartment, enjoying life for a moment, listening to “Jumbo” by Underworld a couple of times in a row because, well, because it’s fantastic. I rang the doorbell, my mate opened to the window above, and dropped the key down so I could let myself into the building. Up the stairs, and the door was open, so I walked in. Saw a teenage kid in a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt. He stared at me blankly. Okay, whatever, I said hello. Kept on walking down the hall towards the lounge, and at the exact moment that I thought to myself that I didn’t remember Daniel’s apartment having that picture on the wall, I turned the corner and saw a whole bunch of people I didn’t recognise. In a room I didn’t recognise. And these people were looking at a person they don’t recognise. Daniel’s apartment, I quickly realised, is on the next floor.