Slightly dark.

"You son of a bitch!" Mary said as she walked slowly toward George, who turned and looked at her, a feminine hand still holding the small vintage container. Her steps were steady but she was cautious. She had no idea the physical issues this guy had.

"Oh, you're awake!" He said with a smile. "Tell me, do you always shop for antiques wearing an outfit like this? A tank top and heels? I do like it, but maybe something a bit more supportive, like the shoes I was wearing. See, aren't those better on your feet?"

"You bastard!" She said. "What did you do to us? Why the hell is my head on your body? Why is yours on mine?"

"Technically, it wasn't me who did it..."

"Fuck, you're going to say 'technically' with this shit? Are you kidding me? I have the body of a seventy year old man!"

"Seventy-eight, actually. I'm guessing you're, what, thirty or so? It must have been nice to feel so young. To look so good. Well, I guess you won't be doing very much of that anymore, will you? I think I will be, though. Yes, this new body, I bet you look great in a short skirt, don't you? Also, a nice, tight shirt. You know, I think I'm done shopping for now. I got something new and you, well, I think you got an antique!"