100.

Athens and Rome are close. There’s a history of warfare.

Rat-a-tat-tat ticks the wall dividing their respective cells. They talk frequently. Security is lax in Hell.

“I’m in love with him,” taps Athens.

Athens is a girl’s name.

Rome, the deceptively unplain girl next door, is shopping for an escape route. Athens – who believes in love but not salvation – sleeps, in uniform, fence-net stockings and neon blue. There are no clocks.

It is unclear whether they are slaves or employees.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Rome. “You’re in Hell.”

“Do you mind?”

Rome does not mind. Rome doesn’t believe in anything.