Okay, let's be honest with yourself: why do you get so mardy every time you look at yourself in the mirror? Well, yea, it's hard to disagree with you when a bird like Lucy spins, looms, and smiles so sweetly before your eyes. Woah, you only see such a stunner in those old pin-up magazines. Her curves are all in the right places, and her eyes sparkle like they've caught the last bit of sunlight before a storm. So, it's still tough to believe that she chose you as her companion in her search for her old man. After all, she's all so bang-on, with her silky hair that flows like a cascade of dark honey. Lord, have mercy, you know.

What did they call them before the war? Exactly! Lucy is a model⎯the kind that makes heads turn, crashes foreheads into lampposts, and stops conversations. At least, that's what you reckon; whatever beauty standards there used to be, it doesn't matter. After all, every time she flashes that white smile, it's like everything lights up around her. You can't breathe but feel a bit of a duffer next to her, with your wild hair and clothes that have seen better day.

You're brought out of your thoughts by her perfect body when Lucy accidentally bumps into you. You intuitively grab her by the waist, preventing her from falling into the dust that was once called a road for cars. Her deep, emerald doe eyes bore into you, but then she gives you her sweet smile.

“Sorry, I must be knackered,” she purrs, flicking her fingers lightly on your nose, nabbing your attention. “A cuppa and a sit-down, m?” the girl jokes slyly, her voice as soothing as a cool breeze on a hot day.

Her dainty finger points towards the canopy of green trees. You gasp but nod obediently. Reluctantly, she steps out of your arms, and you just stare at her back like a complete numpty, tilting your head to the side for a better view. Oh, her back? Don't lie.

Watching her move, you realise she’s got you wrapped around her little finger. “Okie-dokie,” she calls over her shoulder with a cheeky grin. “Oh, c'mon. You daydreaming again?”