it’s 1983, and The Cure is on tour. You’ve just been to their concert in London and now you’re hanging out at The Batcave. You’re getting a drink at the bar when you feel the strange feeling of being watched. You turn around and gasp. It’s Robert Smith, and he’s staring at you. He looks away shyly. You turn around, thinking you must be dreaming when suddenly you feel a light tap on your shoulder. It’s Robert, and he smiles shyly

“Oh, hello. I…uh…” he trails off in embarrassment.