The summer sun beat down on the London park. It was July. The grass was yellow and dry.
Alex sat on a picnic blanket. He was wearing sunglasses and reading a book titled Advanced Thermodynamics.
He turned the page.
"The laws of heat," Alex muttered. "Energy cannot be created or destroyed. It only changes form."
"Does energy taste like chicken?" a voice asked.
Alex looked up.
Mark was sitting next to him. He was wearing a pair of swimming trunks with the Arsenal crest on them, a bucket hat, and absolutely nothing else. He was eating a drumstick from a bucket of fried chicken.
"Energy is physics, Mark," Alex said. "Not food."
"I have a lot of energy," Mark said, chewing. "So I must be physics."
"That logic is... flawed," Alex smiled.
Mark stood up. He grabbed a frisbee.
"Go long, Professor! Calculate the wind!"
Mark threw the frisbee. He threw it hard. It didn't glide. It flew like a stone.
It hit a tree. Thwack.
"The wind was against me," Mark claimed.
