Coleman Turk.

Coleman Turk is a young man; he likes hip-hop, drink and sherbet coated sweeties.

 

Right this minute he’s standing by the window looking at the snow falling on the city streets, something you would associate more with a mature, elderly man than someone who doesn’t remember anything before the year 2000. 

 

His girlfriend – let’s call her Carla – is sitting on the sofa, her legs tucked under her because she’s cold.

 

‘I love this sofa’, she says sighing. ‘I mean, I know it’s just a sofa but…..’

 

Her words were settling softly on Cole’s shoulders, unheard.

 

‘How was your day?’, he asks over those same shoulders. He loves the way the street lights are making the snowflakes shine like yellow petals.

 

‘So far, so good’, Carla giggles, she knows she has his attention now. ‘I love this sofa’, she repeats, ‘I’m going to try and speak only in sofa-speak.’ 

 

Reluctantly Coleman turns from the window, ‘there was something in the paper about sofas today’ he says.

 

‘No way!’ Carla sits up, she is alert and interested.

 

Coleman crosses the room and starts shuffling through the layers of paper lying like frost upon the table where he had been sitting, working when the falling snow had distracted him.

 

‘It’s snowing!’ Carla screams, suddenly noticing