Peter O’Connell pulls out a cream, double knit jumper from the dusty depths of his messy wardrobe; a gift from his grandmother. Looking more like a fluffy rag picked out of a Life Line dump bin than a hand knitted jumper, he slips it over his head none the less and moves into his small cluttered lounge room. He settles onto his miniature green couch, its upholstery riddled with holes. Lying down he sighs to himself and allows his eyes to wander around the dirty room. They stop when they reach a photograph, recently framed, hanging above his broken television. It is the same photograph he had on his office desk months earlier, the photograph of Jennifer Barns. He allows his mind to wander back to the day it was taken.