He’s too polite to say he thinks he’s more handsome than me, but he’s not too polite to think it.
We’re drunk and happy, and howl into the night, like wolves in the forest.
He says I should come back to the table and talk to him more, and blows me a kiss. I wink at him, like a playboy.
He laughs. “I wish! I wish you’d fuck me.” He howls this into the night. He doesn’t care who hears. “Fuck you all!”
A man at another table pointed at me, his hand trembling, and said, “Itzak Stern sat there.”
Nathan pretends to look serious and says, ‘We can talk about politics, if you want,’ and laughs, then repeats himself. We stop talking about Eurovision.