The small, dark girl looked up at the frozen sailor. As she regarded his four-square form he seemed to solidify and the colour drained from him. ‘I said he was colourless,’ she said to no-one in particular. ‘I always knew it would end this way.’ Far in the distance, the girl at the table yawned and stretched. She shook her head as though awakening from a dream before rising from the table. Far in the distance, she began to walk. The small, dark girl leaned over the handlebars of her bicycle to watch. Her quizzical right eyebrow arched above the glittering blackness of her eye. The girl who had left the table took forever to reach the middle distance. ‘Shall I give you a backy?’ called the small, dark girl. ‘It’s one of my finest skills.’ ‘No thanks,’ said the girl who had left the table, her voice sounding closer in the ear of the small, dark girl than she would have thought possible, had she been inclined to think about the possible in any way whatsoever. Then, there she was, the sunlight catching on the gold in her brown hair. ‘Nice statue,’ she said. ‘Did you make it yourself?’