I was as nervous as a whippet. Leaving London, leaving England, filled me with fear.
I’d ask myself, How did I get here? How did this happen? then remember, and forget again, and carry on like everything was normal, which of course it was.
He’d tell me fragments about himself, but not much more. He was like a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle to which I’d only found the corners.
Alberto did something to displease a Russian customer, who, as a sort of warning, mimed slitting his throat.
His most recent relationship had been with a pre-op f-m sex change, but Yaron grew bored and ended it.
I ran to the bathroom more times than a teenage bulimic. I’m not used to all this emotion.
Waiters tap their fingernail impatiently on the table and remind you, sternly, that the bill doesn’t include a tip, even as they hand you the menu.