So Ganesha and Jesus have been sitting in the Deux Magots for the past few hours downing tequila shots when Pollock comes slobbering and joins them. It’s been raining all day. Their bell bottoms are soaked and their leather sandals are squishy, mud and bits of leaves stuck between their toes. Jesus lites another smoke and squints at Pollock, ‘Where’s Hermes, I thought he was with you? The little creep owes me money.