Looking from within their confines, Tanja and Church, visualise an empty stage.
She, full of reading and snippets from friends, slips five fingers, their sweaty palm smooth, between her thighs. It’s a comfort. Her other hand holds Tim Tim, a chunky new phone.
He, building doubt-cathedrals and self-reflection arrays, rubs his moist hands on his knees. It’s a comfort. A comfort. But, on reflection, it’s not the comfort he’d like.