It pays the bills, eh’, he says with a grin. ‘Ah. You are a commercial artist.’ ‘Yes, but I do my own stuff too, paint, draw a little, just fo... me. Gifts to friends sometimes,’ he says. ‘Ah! Then you are a practising artist also! Perhaps you will do a show in one of my galleries.’ Her eyes shine. He learns that she is Drazena. She wears a fitted linen shirt the colour of butter, a subtle embroidered detail on its collar. The shirt fits her well, stretching perfectly across her breast, not. A Union Flag flopped damply from its pinnacle. Another pennant hung below but she could barely discern its colours. No matter. She recalled it well and the one recently beneath it was now absent.In the murky waters she could barely make out the metallic object with wheels. Burly bobbies had raised it partially. Waters poured off what seemed to be a cushioned leather covered seat. The process of removing an inert, shapeless mass from the seat began. Gears and polished copper and brass were more. More

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