Three months in London is a long time to be a stranger, but just enough time to feel like a local. My routine was a binary code: weekdays were for the "exemplary" grind, and weekends were for rewarding that grind with something a little more chaotic. We were near the City Centre, where the pubs are historic and the discotheques are loud enough to make you forget your own name. It was a Saturday, the kind of night that starts with a few shots and ends with a story you’re not sure you are allowed to tell. The Waking Jolt