We met him in a park down by the derelict part of the harbour. It was just an oblong of yellow grass and some lopsided play equipment. We used to go there at night and drink cheap, fizzy wine we bought from the lady who owned the Chinese market nearby. This man was standing by the water taking photos of the bridge. He told us we looked mature for sixteen. We told him butter wouldn’t melt in our mouths. Later that night, after we accepted the little blue pills he gingerly placed on our tongues, we warmed to him. Arms linked, we followed him to his home.