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Splat. The ball arced perfectly into a tub of hummus, bounciness negated by the consistency of mashed chick pea. Dog followed at speed, careening into cans and packets, briefly acquiring a tortilla chip hat to human noises somewhere in between 'woah' 'hey' and 'hahaha'. Some Kid was now exhibiting the raised eyebrows and static appendages of those expecting imminent admonishment, hoping fervently that they wouldn't be held accountable for the whims of beast and physics.  Human forelimbs went on automatic negentropic overdrive, righting bottles, moving food and foolhardily attempting to counteract the canine exuberance. "I'm so sorry! Come here! Come...

  Good God they were off putting . Left. Left. Leftleftleft. Julia stared at the screen wondering if single men wanted to stay that way forever, as Marco, 27, held up his shirt to display what he probably imagined was a six pack, though if it was then it was one of those ones in the reduced rack where some of the cans had dents and the pack had had to be sellotaped shut. Left. Tim, 32, posed, shades on, shirt off, a sea in blue rippling away behind him, holding up a large fish, whose terminal piscine expression pretty...

Under the swinging zero, Peter seemed part of the platform, bolted in and rooted. A man-plant, suddenly Pacific in features. "I've met you before?" Stan asked. It might not have been a question. "Have I!" exclaimed Joy, right in Stan's ear, from across the tracks, right next to him. Oddly, he hadn't moved, but was somewhere else nonetheless. The station building receded in importance, filling a gap, the leaning Peter mute and stoic and somehow retaining more permanence than his situation. A strange spring was bubbling up inside Houndspay's chest, yearning and mirth and a bit of impatience all mixed...