It is sometime in the last hundred years. In some once beautiful, now faceless European city, the ghosts of Nationalism, Fascism, Communism, rampant consumerism and inevitable wars haunt the almost deserted streets. Once grandiose buildings lay crumbling as the detritus of a society that has woefully failed on all counts litters the filthy sidewalks. Here and there a few old women and young children beg for food and clothing stamps, some resort to selling their bodies for pennies. Others fall by the wayside, understanding all too late that theirs is a lost cause.

In one particularly disreputable avenue, disreputable even by the terms of the day, music can be heard. It comes from what on first glance appears to be an abandonned warehouse. A black guy called Steve stands by what passes for a door. He looks for all intents and purposes to be a late 19th Century prize fighter, oddly reminiscent of a minor character in a Sherlock Holmes short story. Next to him, Rice Miller, AKA. Sonny Boy Williamson II and a man who calls himself Snoop Dog swap pimp stories as they frisk anyone foolish enough to seek to enter the building in search of the music that wafts through the broken walls. Sonny Boy brandishes a knife and seems like he knows how to use it. If you can get by this pair, then you would find yourself in what appears to be an endless corridor. After some minutes you would reach the box office where someone vaguely familiar yet nameless sits smoking, ready to dispense a pass for the evening, providing the compensation proves to be to his satisfaction. Finally, you clutch the ticket in your hand and you are through the swing doors. Immediately, your senses would become assaulted by the entertainment on offer. The Eternal Cabaret, ladies and gentlemen. The living, the dead and the yet to be born up there singing to you, singing about you. The world as you know it would cease to exist as the Cabaret enfolds you...Bienvenue, Wilkommen, Welcome...