Trev leans over to me: ‘Jägers?’ he says. ‘Pope?’ I say.

I walk into the King Bill at eight o’clock and the usual young Friday-night crowd is in and the spirit is already moving. Whether this is due to the fatness of the moon or the availability and quality of the drugs on sale this evening, I couldn’t say. Whatever the cause, everyone is lit up and loved up and a curious unity prevails.

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TaggedJägerbomb, Jägermeister, Neal Cassady, Pub, Trev

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Trev leans over to me: ‘Jägers?’ he says. ‘Pope?’ I say.

A Baconesque triptych of tits, tats and fake tans: it’s Friday night at the King Bill

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