They peeled off each other's clothes like ages. Each piece was an epoch. She started with his alligator shirt, a closet remnant.
  "How old are you?" she asked.
  "You're the seer," he replied. She shifted her weight firmly to his solar plexus. "Ooof. I'm still a kid, I'm just out of shape."
  He hadn't worked out since the 80s, as if someone could preserve a body through inactivity. He was a looser, fleshier version of that younger self, and Molly Jones wouldn't have been able to pull him out of a lineup.