It was dark in the alleyway too, he'll suddenly remember. The vision comes to him gradually, overwhelming his senses. The air was brisk that night, damp with ocean water. It's a moment of quiet in between performances - a rare chance to speak candidly.

Across from him is Anansi, the wild-hair solo artist who had been in the business for longer than he's been around to remember. She offers him a cigarette, her expression a flat line. He waves it off.

"Nah, I'm good," he says. "Never touch the things."

"If you think they're gunna let someone like you die of lung cancer, you're wrong," she says bleakly. He shrugs.

"You still wanna talk?"

"No reason not to," she says, taking another puff. She leans back against the wall. "So tell me...what do you remember about your homeworld?"