Before us were two people in a lit glass box, slowly reading out a million years of deep time in the night. "One hundred and ninety four thousand, eight hundred and sixty-eight BC. One hundred and ninety four thousand, eight hundred and sixty-seven BC." Behind that, Nelson's column symbolising English naval victory of over the French.
The fine hairs on her upper lip touched me. Her breath, warm down my cheek. A faint smell of deodorant and sweat. She said the taste of her mouth was coca-cola, but I told her it was her. We kissed for about a hundred years.