It's mid-afternoon in London - 20 years from now. The sun is casting a perfect 3000k set warming color temperature on your skin. A slight breeze just happens to catch your hair as you look up at me - as I look up at you. I notice that the reflections in your eyes are whispering to me about how much you are enjoying every ebullient, preposessing, surfeited second of our existence together; whole heartedly; with out doubt. You're setting the table at a restaurant for a cut scene involving two wine glasses - A narrative first person depiction from the perspective of the wine. Their bold thoughts about the people who sit before them, about to drink them. The wine reads in to people and picks them apart - The girl's slightly stained pearl necklace, the man's slightly scratched optical frames.

Oh how judgemental those grapes have become since they were first crushed.