The Onward Roll of Sport, Booze and Karaoke

Here lies Stephan:

The months, the years of Queen and Bowie mouthings in sweaty, after-work clubs frequented by suits 'tween birth and death; the countless nights in the company of pale white Russians – sometimes black – and yellow and green Chartreuse soldiers staring out to sea; the chrome plating of show-reel wheelers that held his eyes and the low resolution snapping of a flick-top mobile; the lust for the South; the pounds of impeccable pastries crafted with an artist's eye in two cross-town kitchens: these were his downfall; the pace couldn't be kept, and eventually, one day, he just let slip and lay dead – out on the tiles of a favourite – and was dragged by countrymen to the cemetery where now he lies under the epitaph:

"It's true that honesty seems to always fail – http://spaces.msn.com/members/themushy/"