About noon, I had lunch at the table under the stairs with Tony, a seventy-year-old artist who wore a scarf in all weathers, for his health, he said. Tony’s scarf was always colourful and always neatly arranged on his chest. Today’s colour was cerise.
‘How is your week going?’ he asked me, his query genuine and not simply a formality. Tony liked me.
‘Awfu…
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