Forget about Pakistan for a while. You are on King Street, Newtown, Sydney, and here, you don’t see the moon-swallowing powdered horseshit and the smoke of two-stroke auto-rickshaws that choke the sky above Lahore. The winter sky is clear and vast, the stars glowing. The Friday night crowd of merry Sydneysiders is around you. Gay and straight couples slosh around bars and clubs as drumbeats thump the air. It is an important night of your life, and you are here to mark the occasion. You take off your watch and hold it across your right palm. It is an ersatz digital, with its logo already peeled off.