I'm not quite sure of the point you're making. Could you clarify?
Two aging hippies (don't argue, I'm 64, lived in Monterey through the Festival, and I know hippies when I see them) childless by design, he 49, she 60 and probably too old to show up on film, living in "a flat" in Cambridge dressed in clothes so old and worn they would be rejected by Goodwill, hair unwashed, unbrushed and strangers to the razor immersed in their science and intent on remaking the world before the clock runs down finally decided that the only reason we die is because we wear out, now presume to embark the resources of our huge and unsinkable ship-of-state on the turbulent waters of MacArthur Park in search of tumbling orts of fast-disappearing sweetened lipids before they sink to Neptune's bed.