The two men walking toward her are obviously father and son. Each is dressed appropriately for his generation, the father nattily in jacket, tie, trench coat and jeff cap, the son scruffily in a hoodie, parka and baseball cap, but there is something unmistakably genetic in the face, the build, the walk, the flamingly heterosexual way their animated conversation suddenly stops and their heads turn in unison to watch her as she approaches, appreciating, she is sure, the bounce in her step and in her short dark pony-tail. She imagines them without the clothes, all without their clothes, taking them both, the both of them taking her, has absolutely no difficulty forming the image given her vast expertise and experience in such matters, and holding the picture in her mind she flashes them her best demure yet wanton "fuck me" smile as she passes and walks on.