Poor young black chap tied to the purse strings of an old fella, late 60s/early 70s. The lad still in his 20s, Central Africa perhaps. A warm natural smile to something across the table, otherwise all at sea in the environment. Natterer the old guy, recalling his childhood.
— Feijoa. It's a fruit.
Not so nice as a fruit. Mother used to make a jam.
USC tee purchased, crimson & yellow lettering.
(Oh for a pair of sunnies!)
Time-piece impossible to judge. Large over-sized face. Heavy gold necklace outside the tee.
FILA shorts. (30 degrees was forecast.) Like dressing up your bunny-honey in a mini.
Minor shin wounds. From a camp somewhere?
Leaning forward teaching table etiquette; large paunch on a short frame.
— Pepper.
Salt on the side of the plate. And tomato relish.
Revised: early/mid 30s. Central or Southern Africa, one of the war zones.
Purring across the table ignored by the companion.
(CAREFUL now…)
Old guy might need to be revised too. Perhaps still mid 60s. Antiques.
— They're worth a lot.
Difficult conveying.
— That was lovely, thank you. Delicious.
— Anything else to drink?
— No, thank you. We'll have the bill and be on our merry way.
Bald by the register, buzz cut. Check shirt, fawn slacks, brown loafers; pale. Off to the bank—reiterated couple times.
All afternoon low flying khaki choppers, no more than 50 meters. In the hot zones they would never venture that. The Air Show out in Laverton and straight from there to the Grand Prix. Over the weekend the resistance in Libya scored one of Gaddafi's jets. Hardware from Catholic peacenik Blair's last biz venture in office.
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