I am gazing into my soupy cappuccino at an assertive swirl of cinnamon. ‘I need a hero’ Bonnie Tyler agonizes, brassily invoking the eighties that so embarrass my children. Opposite me; men in blood smeared white coats, over sweaters, over ties and shirts. Handsome granite profiles, short, steely grey hair. Manly men. A gold wedding ring on one hand, a black onyx signet ring on the other, the one holding the smart phone. There is more blood on their sleeves, I note. They're a