‘I was unsure when I left the house, but you know when you want positive affirmation on the things you’re wearing? Go to the old girls.’

‘Define old?’

‘Sixty or seventy yah. If I get a wink or a nod off an old girl on the street, I know I’m doing it right. And I got about six on the way here, so.’

Nicolette lines up the angles of her face with the outside of the building. ‘Come in,’ she says, beckoning me towards her without moving. ‘Come in with me.’

‘I’m not looking so hot.’

‘Black and white makes it all all right.’

I stand next to her and smile, lips no teeth because that’s how I feel. I look at Nicolette’s fingertips gripping the phone – her grown-out gel manicure is pleasantly prostitute-y. She takes the shot and posts it. I wonder whether to do one too, but my hesitation – as always – costs me momentum. Nicolette and I have discussed social media – being, as it is, a major obsession within both our lives. We have categorised users, ourselves included: likers, non-likers (stealth users), tactical likers, and the Truly Sound of Mind. I am more honest with Nicolette than I am with anyone else, even Kelly – which is strange for someone I have known a relatively short amount of time. I suppose it’s a different kind of honest. I just let my mouth run. In my lighter moments, it is because I adore her. In my darker, it is because I know that I have nothing to lose by her disapproval.

‘Gimme a mo,’ Nicolette says. She dabs at her phone.

My own phone pings. I look at it. Kelly.

Hey, can you chat?

Nicolette looks up from her phone. ‘Did you cut your hair?’

‘Yes.’

‘I mean that literally, babe. Did YOU cut your hair?’

‘Actually, I did. But then I got it professionally tweaked.’

‘Are you having a breakdown?’

‘No! I don’t think so.’

‘It’s not a criticism. Maybe psycho is the way to go. I almost rugby tackled a charity hijacker to the ground earlier. Do you know what he said to me? Mate, you just dropped your smile. I wanted to end him. More than I wanted to end cancer.’

‘You should have. I hate those harassers. I hate the way they try and teach you how to be a good human. The guilt trip of it, you know? Like they’re responsible for the fabric of society.’

‘Yah. I don’t have time for it, either. I’ve not stopped since 5 a.m. I ate a sandwich on the toilet at work, to save time. Then I remembered that was how Elvis died.’

‘We’d better go in.’

‘I suppose.’

In the studio, we take our positions on our mats.

‘Be non-judgmental with your breathing,’ Natalie the yoga teacher says.