He smiles tightly. There is a vapour in the air which scares him. It permeates his orifices, making him both nervous and aroused. Reaching out, his hand strokes across the back of the model Buddha, his fingertips following a fault in the wood. A woman with magenta hair approaches him. Her eyes look past him in a glazed indifference. ?Interested?? There is little thought behind the words. This is the hundredth time she?d asked it today. ?Lost my religion ...? he says, remembering his music injury. He hands her the list. ?Recognise any?? Her eyes show a slight interest in the paper She?s failed a papyrus course at University. This seems quite ancient. The words mean little. ?Not in this life ...? Her voice is shallow, without feeling. ?Thanks.? He says leaving the shop, taking a final lung of jostic.