In the winter, working behind the bar, Basil dreams of snow; deep, soft, endless, somehow warm. He dreams this every night and finds it reassuring.
But today, after his reunion with G., the dream has changed. He clings to the tile edge at the far end of a green sun-raked pool, gasping. He can't hold on and he can't release his grip.
Basil is ill-tempered this morning. Accustomed to controlling his dreams he is shocked that so much snow has melted and that he's suddenly freezing his ass in brilliant sunshine with no way forward and no way back. "That's love for you," he says.