Depression: The courtyard steps down from the club, and sinks closer towards the original level of the basin of The Ponsonby Swimming Pool. 7 am Earlier that night, short doses of post-dance blues in the courtyard—where the muffled sounds and diminished lights of the dance-floor emanating from the soft walls—had already softened the blow of the inevitable post-party depression when the revellers exited the venue en-mass at the early morning hours. The fountain tube drips slowly but steadily, irrigating the sand in the large ashtray-shaped fountain at the centre of the courtyard. The large pool beyond forms the source of this steady drip. It expands towards two back-lit, nylon mesh walls that form crescents as they meet at the corner at the end of the courtyard. The two-storeyed walls forming the corner adjacent to the pool are covered with grey PVC, obscuring the dance halls behind them. A black polished granite floor is adjacent to the pool. At a slightly lower level, the floor is rough carborundum. It slows one’s movement: a surface that is almost impossible to dance on. From a bird’s-eye view it would resemble sand paper. The wall at the back of the courtyard—hosting a mirror with * ..... THIS IS NOT A MESSAGE ..... etched on it—is also clad with carborundum. A nightclub guest has left her lipstick at the mirrored shelf below the mirror, next to a large glass of unfashionably late Campari spritz.