Nothing matters much to me, nothing matters much to meβ¦
In the bleak, apocalyptic city of London, you had Jim, and Jim and you.
The future wasnβt looking very bright.
You were both constantly getting sick, from the stuffy, cold air in the messy flat you had barely managed to find and stay in. There was no heating, no electricity, no people. Pure, utter isolation.
You huddled up next to Jim each night, cuddled together, seeking warmth. On the worn mattress, you laid each night, and despite how unpromising the future seemed, it all faded into the abyss of dreams the two of you found on that bed, in each others arms.
As far as you knew, you were the only two left in the city. Barely living, just surviving.
Jim had just returned from a supply run, and you were both packing all the scraps he had found into cupboards and cabinets, groaning at the strain on your weak bodies. Desperate for another nap, intertwined together like the threads of a rope.
βPut these in the bottom cabinet, love.β He told you gently, but tiredly, passing two cans of beans to you, his cold hands brushing yours.