'You know, the ones that have little recesses, like egg cartons. You lay them down and cover them with topsoil. Then you sow grass. When the grass grows, the concrete foundation stops cars from sinking into the earth or tearing it up. Beats the sh*t out of a normal car park surface.'

'Oh, yeah. I know the ones.'

'Well, imagine if the whole South Eastern Freeway were paved with them. Imagine the extra oxygen. It'd look great. Man, it'd be fantastic, don't you think? Fonnie? Why don't they do that? What's your theory?'

Fon regarded the noisy freeway. Her poorly fitting sandshoes squelched with perspiration. A relentless trio of flies strafed her face, effortlessly evading the angry swish of her arms. Her armpits chafed and her head throbbed. She drew a deep breath.

'Feisty.'

'Yes baby?'

'Can we please stop imagining things until we get home?'

Feisty looked at her, surprised and hurt. His brow furrowed. 'Why?'

'I'm really hot and tired. I find it hard picturing all the things you describe. Especially since you've had me doing it all week.'

'I have?'

'Yes. On Monday we had the farting biting cat, as well as bride-sniping from that penthouse next to the Fitzroy Gardens. On Tuesday, it was the slate tiles from Mars and the clothing that hurts people if they don't look good in it. On Wednesday I had dinner with Debbie, but as soon as I got home, you told me all about the piano-wire banana lounge that slices people into bits if they don't lie on it properly. Then, on Thursday, Steven came over, and both of you went on for ages about camouflage bean bags getting lost in the garden. Finally, yesterday, after a really sh*tty week at work, I came home to your idea for a dining table with a built in hologram unit that can record and replay the events that occur around it.'

'I see,' said Feisty, crushed. He was easily crushed.

To be continued...