Excerpt from Nick’s journal, published after his death and edited by Oolon Colluphid:

It’s hard to describe what happened at and after the café with Oscar… between the absinthe, which has hallucinogenic properties, and the opium-tainted cigarettes (yeah, I didn’t know about Oscar’s particular brand of ciggies till I read a bio on him by a guy named Ellman - I guess it explains the funny taste I noticed), I’m surprised I can remember anything. But there are some bits and pieces that come back to me… trying to start a conversation in execrable French with another customer at the café, for one thing, and staggering down the street with Oscar after he suggested we visit some place called the Moulin Rouge. And I remember… the city was alive. I could feel it living around me - the buildings and the streetlamps, the cobblestones, the statues and the fountains. The colours were brilliant, the most vibrant and penetrating I’ve ever seen, and there was such subtle shading - I knew the differences between maroon and scarlet, scarlet and crimson…

Yeah. I’m still getting a bit carried away by it, and I barely remember anything! We ran into all sorts of people walking along the streets, and I stopped to talk with all of them. I was sure I sounded absolutely brilliant, spouting all kinds of lyrical poetry and stuff, but for the life of me I can’t remember any of it now. Oscar laughed at me, kept putting a hand on my back or my arm to keep me moving. Every touch with anyone sparked with electricity. I almost fancied I could read people’s minds; their facial expressions seemed open books to me, explaining their secrets to me, no matter how distorted the faces had become - too long and too thin to be human, sprouting an extra nose or a third eye… it didn’t matter; I still understood everything. That really should’ve told me something was off.

And then we arrived. The Moulin Rouge was the early twentieth century equivalent to a dance hall, I think - a cabaret. The building was practically bursting with people, and it was loud with music and vibrant with dancing. I fell in love with the place the instant I was inside; Oscar was pleased when I told him that. And the music… I could have sworn that I was hearing songs that I’d heard on the radio in London, more than eighty years in the future, but of course that’s impossible.

And then there was this crescendo, so that the music became overwhelming, and someone announced something about a woman named Satine. I looked up, because everyone else was looking up, and a woman on a trapeze appeared in the middle of the huge room. She was beautiful. She was divine. She was as sexy as hell. She sparkled, colours coalesced around her; when she smiled, the whole room brightened. And then suddenly… suddenly everything shifted, like the world threw a huge wobbly. And I didn’t quite feel myself any more.