Things become somewhat pooled, confused and mixed up.
Natalie and Salvia perch on bar stools at Aliceís, their favourite meeting spot down on the harbour front. Nat buys them another couple of bacardi breezers. Two more virulent splashes of bottled colour arrive as the young women chat and look out across the water.
They stick reddened tongues out at each other, almost (but not entirely) unaware of the ripple of liveliness that they cause around the dawdling night-is-yet-young establishment.
Salvia shivers. It isnít the strengthening wind off the harbour. She realises thereís someone standing too suddenly close behind her, but when she turns she recognises Sigmund and breaks into a broad smile.