Maya is a pixel. In this club, she is one of a thousand drunken bodies, making up the wall of people in the flashing lights, eyes blown out on ecstasy and bottom shelf drinks. Her friends cheer around her as she stumbles into the arms of a man she may have gone to college with. He smells of weed and salt. In a month, Maya will be a pixel again. The club she is in will be bombed. Maya will be another statistic on the screens of the rich. But today - she is here. And she is alive.