Quadrant 6

The frontlit sign on the overhanging portal read 'Quadrant 6', and the music was just as electric. It droned like nascent hunger.
  'So, it's not as easy as you think?' she asked, seethingly.
  'I want it to be.' he replied, looking solemnly at the ground. He looked away. The snowbanks were coated by the residual grays of car exhaust. 'More than anything in my life.' He paused for a moment, recollecting all fragments and blemishes leading up banks of snow-sludge; a loose trail of forgotten figments and meaningless muses. Ragged faces and ruined scenes fluttered for brief moments, sifting in and out of focus, instances of sickening clarity; inert, dead, unable to extract from the lifeless symbols any semblance of realism. 'This trail caught up, the one from the Nightless Watchtower. It goes on and off from time to time. I was there last summer.'
  'No, you weren't.' she said, forcing his gaze upon her brazen face.    'Don't lie to me.'
  'But I was. I can prove it.' his tones sunk.
'Waste of breath, as you are a waste of life.' She was practically singing.
  'I can't prove anything.'
  'And you mustn't even try. I have here a bejewelled sphere.' She plucked from her pocket a glimmering globe of latent sapphire warmth. 'The one from the tomb that you so carelessly smashed. Do you remember?'
  'So long ago... I remember.'
  'Hard to believe.'
  'But I do remember.' he said. She ignored him, tending to her own wretched devices. 'Like yesterday.'
  'Shut-up.' her tone was flatly stroked, rending the air like visible rows of verbal submission. 'Throw your mind away. I expect it.'
His mind flourished like a candy-glazed window, sticky panes, opacity on full. Her gestures were like reigns, both calming and forceful, like the stretchy second skin of a latex catsuit. They fucked mindlessly for the next three hours, thin bands of tapered black fabric cast aside. All her screams rode waves like pure prism signals, and neither a soul or skeleton could tear them apart from bliss.