“Well, the more coffee I drink the more impulsive I become and the more coffee I order,” explained Oscar, “so by late morning I tend to feel connected to the here and now, the ghost of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and a quasar at the edge of the known universe I’ve decided to call Ian.”
“I’ll get the bill,” I said.
There is a man looking in my study window from the back yard. I suddenly can’t remember where I keep the cricket bat. He’s swarthy, and he’s tapping on the glass and saying something which I can’t hear because I’m listening to some traditional Georgian choral music on my headphones and I’ve just turned up the volume as high as I can stand to get the full majestic effect.
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