The scene opens in hell. We see flames. We hear screams. Then the digicam closes in on Devil himself — substantial horns, enormous pectorals, vivid crimson pores and skin — as he slumps over on his throne. His phone buzzes. He glances at the show mask mask. “You’re a match!” it says. Devil perks up, eyes huge in amazement. The dark lord, it appears, is buying for delight in on Match.
Prick to: a bridge underpass, in a park on Earth. There are bushes. It is far still. Devil waits to meet his date. A lady approaches. “Hi there, Two-zero-two-zero?” Devil says to her. “Please,” she replies, “call me 2020.” Then it’s montage time: Devil and 2020 picnicking in an empty soccer stadium, doing yoga in an empty health club, stealing bathroom paper and hanging out by a Dumpster fireplace, and most often setting their hearts aflame as they see the arena burn.