My parents met next to a vending machine. She’d been after a twix, but there were none. So she got stuck, thumbing the confections through the grubby window with her pupils, trying to decide what would be a worthy substitute. Who doesn’t sell a twix? She’d asked. Hm? said the man behind her. She hadn’t noticed that she’d been standing there for several minutes and a queue of one had formed. Are you talking to me? No, sorry, hi, hello. She was flustered. And she knew the only thing that would remedy it would be a twix. I have a twix, said Dad. I’ll share it with you if you like. Mum was suspicious. He held up his twix, two fingers, he said. What are you after? asked Mum. A cherry coke, said Dad. Such a good drink. He nodded. Such a good drink.