They sat on the top step, on either side the lush green undergrowth, before them the 120 steep steps that led back to the city.
They both sat on a single sheet of newspaper. Neatly, symmetrically, between them sat a packet of Petra cigarettes with a lighter on top.
They both smoked and he drank from a carton of cranberry juice that he had cut open with a pocket knife.
“There is nothing here for us” she said.
He pondered on this for a moment, drawing on his cigarette.
“There is each other” he said.
“It’s not enough” she replied.