What passes for a snap shot? She asks me this with a straight face. Prague! Yes, Prague! The room looks up from its geometry homework. A cylinder. Rhombus. The bus conductor is pregnant. Number 2, renamed. I can feel a poem coming on, the waters break. Prague.

‘On the other hand, what is proof? A video? a photograph? But it was Wednesday! Midweek and dark!’ Down the centuries, the innocent plead their case, white-faced with fear and conviction. The man in the dock is the man in the moon. Plead guilty to everything, that’s my advice. If it wasn’t you, it was someone like you.

‘Talking of youth,’ she says with her mouth full of birds nest soup…… but then tails off. I know the facts anyway, the swiftlet’s spit congealed on her upper lip, crusted lust and reek of spoils. Libido is a twitching nose, a spinning eye.