They sit outside the pub, he with his thin line of beard across his jaw and her many-times died and trimmed hair representing the "alternative" reality they inhabit. Sharing a bowl of potato wedges, they um and ah over no deeper smalltalk than the colour of her artfully worn op-shop cardigan. Moving closer, they double dip with abandon, gleefully sharing more than just personal space. He has his Oakleys perched like a teenage girl’s on his unruly bleached blond curls. She leans in closer still, exposing her back, low down, as her too-small clothes ride up.