Gabriel Ogier paid for his ticket, the server held up his note to the light. He'd given enough money for standard, he sat in a premier seat. Locke was a one man car phone nightmare. The protagonist takes a continuous motorway ride to witness the birth of his illegitimate child. In the process he reassures, argues with the non-visible, destroying his home-life, his work. Or are they actual beings that he is talking to? Gabriel felt trapped in the cinematic vehicle, confined to this solitary man's traumas without escape. It was a pretty intense journey.He walked out of the cinema at the end, wandering across the street to the squat gymnasium. Inside he took a seat on the floor. The live music began. Spanish blues harmonicas, northern howlers, too much reverb, hooded guys protesting with songs, chirpy munchkins. Been round the block beat-boxing, wooden microphone stand, funk backing group with Yamaha keys. Endless rapped readings and improvisations taken from blurred pen-marked notebooks, audience and performers, the same, connected. An unknown what next, freedom and openness, with some danger and edge. He danced with his friends, the two long dark-haired women, to the makeshift, booming speakers, blurting heavy, sweet reggae.
