Tonight I have to wait. Several hours of sitting after the last client and before I meet a child to escort home from lectures late in the evening. I am sitting in a street cafe- in the eastern suburbs- a bit fashionable- near where we must meet. I ate a large genuine Italian pizza for tea, along with a Coopers Pale Ale. I sat and watch people a while, wrote a bit, and then ordered strawberry cheesecake, another beer, and black coffee.
Twenty six dollars for tea- all spent on me.
An interesting little Methodist lad. How much I have grown from being a good boy, almost puritan, too hard working! Imagine! Sitting in a cafe on the street side! Drinking beer!
But will I manage the next hour too? Or will I flee to her college library and work- study another chapter, write another report for a client? What strange beings we men are! My wife might well find a comfortable place, open a book, and have to be roused by her impatient teenager indignant at the prospect of missing the bus and train... she might be on time... she might be late.
But I will be early, and working.
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