“And I’ll tell you something else: I, like that wardrobe, am modern life. In its less desirable aspects. How far down your gullet do you think I’ve got?”
“You’ve stuck,” I said. “You’ve stuck.”
“You mean I’m not digested?”
“Not at all digested. You’re all raw and whole and hairy.”
“Give me a kiss, Emma.”
“I don’t much feel like giving you a kiss. I don’t feel like kissing anyone.”
“I’ll help you unpack if you give me a kiss.”
“I don’t want you to help me unpack, you’ll break everything,” I said, but nevertheless I slowly turned my face towards him and our lips met and rested together. And so we sat for a moment, as I thought, tasting his familiar tobacco flavour, that our lips might be there, but where, in the words of the song, were our hearts? There was more between us two than a wardrobe.