Wood is all you see. Blue wood, with gold inside. Like macaroni.

Wood is all you see. Blue wood, slightly faded, newly painted.

Wood is all you see. Blue wood, like a breath of Anchusa against brown moss.

Wood is all you see. Blue wood and soft flesh, meat of all kinds, today. Lucky church goers.

There is a lamp, outside. Somewhere. Somewhere people are waiting.

Some people love the old places.

A girl, a brunette sardine in a vest, for one. But unlike so many kinds of fish, she smells of sunshine.

Not many fish can smile like that… eat a jelly baby like that. Pretty girl.

The kind of girl who's a bit of a first love.

She sits in a corner, watching him.

She watches.

She watches the youth cocooned in a scarf which no longer quite suits him, yet suits him far better than it has in a long while.

She has jeans on.

Old eyes, full of calm. Of the hues of life only generosity can bring.

They share eyes now, the girl and the boy.

There on a faded and peeling blue chest, a slightly shady penguin, enjoying a hookah.

The strange bird smiles crookedly, plainly, as he watches them watch.

"Oh Frobisher," she says to him, as she pats the side of the sailing vessel and sighs after the boy's jammy dodger as he sighs after her wrinkles, "…you know the rules. Alistair first, then me. You'll get uploaded to the TARDIS right after I do! He's not forgetting anyone, this time."

"No, I'm definitely not," says the boy, jumping up like a gazelle, but sliding like a flopping fish across the floor as the ship lurches.

They've already signed their eyes away a long time ago.