The plan is simple. Neena will follow the Target for some minutes after she leaves her husband. Neena will call the Target on her mobile number and cl...im to be speaking from the Engineer’s Office. She has rehearsed her lines until they are second nature to her: Is that Mrs McEwan? Oh I am so glad I have caught you. My name is Neena. It’s about your husband. He has slipped down a flight of stairs in the office. We think he has broken his ankle. We have called an ambulance and thought you would. "Well, did you... take care of it... or are you still distracted?" she asked, a mischievous grin showing she was fully aware of the distraction she presented. She lunged again, and I pivoted away, feeling her softness against my back for an instant. "Foul!" I laughed, bumping back against her, then spinning left for a hook shot, that bounced harmlessly off the garage wall. Amy retrieved the ball, then backed away, now on offense. The familiar honk signaled Mrs. Coleman's arrival, and we both. What worried me was that Crystal Passion might not appear either old or new enough to satisfy the festival-goers' tastes. A feminist audience might be just as bemused and puzzled by Crystal's dense, ambiguous and elusive lyrics as any other audience. Crystal might have been as passionate in theory as she was in practice with regards to female empowerment, gender warfare and lesbian love (although she never used terms like 'queer' and 'dyke' to describe herself or her sexuality), but this wasn't. Most of the staff that had taken advantage of my wife were familiar with me turning up and just sitting and watching and rarely even noticed me. This occasion was little different, although, this time, I did notice who was with my wife. There was three of them. All old, probably in their sixties, I guessed. I recognised two of them as either porters or janitors and supposed that the third man followed a similar, lowly profession. All three men and my wife were buck naked and falling about on.