Seated, two leathery alcoholic St Kilda fishermen in June sunlight chew the rag. “So how long do you think it’s going to last? “ asks Purple Beanie. “”No idea,” says Everlast Windcheater. “I give it ten years.” “Ten years?” “Maybe twenty. She’s been divorced before, mate.” “Yeah well, I don’t know.” “They have a history of divorce, that family. And she’s American, just the same as what’s-his-name, the one who abdicated.” Their conversation proceeds the same, repetitive, meandering, as their 96 tram rumbles through the wooded cuttings of Albert Park. The same Albert Park never visited by Albert, nor his wife, either.