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eyes, feeling like a schoolboy jumping off a carousel and enjoying the dizziness in his head. He considered if he had ever came across someone with such perfectly formed features. Never. Bull said,
    “What’s your moniker?
    “I don’t have a moniker – I don't like them, it’s just plain Saffron.”
    “That’s unusual. What’s your surname?” slurred Bull, feeling the effects of the alcohol. Saffron looked into his eyes and said,
    “Wilton.”
    “I was kind of hoping you had a Scottish name like McGregor or McDonald. Something with a bit of clan heritage and blood curdling history to make your toes curl.” Saffron faked a sad face.
    “I’m sorry I’m unable to make your toes curl, my father’s from Edinburgh and ever so Anglo-Saxon.” Bull giggled,
    “I’m sure you could make my toes curl, Saffron.” Bull was melting in her presence.
     
    Saffron peered up at the dark skies, lit up by the flashing lights of passing drones, and through a gap in the clouds she saw a lone star, but it didn’t twinkle like other stars. Eventually, she realised it was one of the Prophylaxis spy satellites, under construction in space, reflecting light from the sun on the other side of the planet.  She thought about the talk of curfews to deal with the recent terrorist attacks and wondered how long the freedoms, like the one she was currently enjoying, would last. The Government issued statements, designed to dampen fears, that if curfews were introduced, it would be a temporary measure, but Saffron understood the nature of government – if they created a circus of fear they could justify every action as a reaction, she thought. They watched the last SkyTran circle the city and then speed off back to the airport. It began to rain.
    “Think I missed my last ride home. I blame you!” said Bull.
    “Looks like you’re staying with me then?” said Saffron. She turned to Bull and inspected his shoulder length hair. She said,
    “What brings you to Glasgow, Faerrleah?”
    “The Clyde flood barrier.”
    “It’s a beautiful piece of architecture but…” Bull burst out laughing.
    “No, I didn’t come here to look at it. I’m not a tourist, I work there.” Saffron drew her eyes up and down his enormous body and said,
    “Do they get you to turn the big wheel that opens and shuts the gates, like a big troll? Oh, you poor thing, that’s so cruel!”
    “That’s why they call me Bull.”
    “Well, I’ll call you Faerrleah.”
     
    Saffron took Bull by the hand and they ran like two excited school children down towards the Merchant City and stumbled towards Saffron’s flat. They spent the night smoking weed , drinking tea and making love. In the morning, Bull lay naked with his head resting on Saffron’s breasts. He savoured the moment, breathing in her natural scent and sampling her pheromones. He relished the feel of her long hair, strewn along his back, like a warming blanket. His eyes probed her naked body. Her skin was like white marble, reminding him of a statue of Aphrodite: Venus de Milo, but with arms, he thought. He reached down with outstretched fingers, under the sheets towards her pubic mound. Saffron broke the spell. She turned away and said,
    “Let’s go and get some breakfast. Then we can go for a walk on the Necropolis. I just need to visit the cludgie first.” Her voice sounded raspy under the weight of Bull’s head, which she peeled from her chest. She disappeared into the toilet like a rabbit flashing its tail before bolting down a burrow and the vision of Saffron’s naked posterior was engrained into his memory forever.
    “What’s the Necropolis?” shouted Bull.
    “We passed it last night. It’s the city of the dead!” shouted Saffron from the bathroom. Bull’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion. He wondered if he’d met a necromancer who now wanted to introduce him to her parents.
     
    They took breakfast at a local café on the High Street. It was still early in the morning when they