“We’re going to have Naturals ice-cream. Not now, though.
The wait will only make it sweeter. Crossword, then?”
Through the incessant pitter-patter on the plexi-glass roof
covering our heads, I managed to get a nod through. The bruschetta and ensuing lasagne
still bore their vestiges in my throat, and the taste of my first mocktail was
still on the tip of my tongue. Dessert could wait.
Up in the bookstore, she wandered off far away from the
bestsellers section, where I wondered what the latest mockery of
overly-righteous reviewers’ predictions was. Hearing a call from shelves well
out of my sight, I found her crouched near a rack taller than me.
“This is the one Ayn Rand book I haven’t read, you know.
Never found it in the neighbourhood bookstore.”
“It’s supposed to be her most passionate set of essays, as I
understand. If you thought The
Fountainhead was intense, wait till you pick this up.”
“Oh, so you liked it?”
“Erm… I kinda, sorta, haven’t, ummm, read it.”
“Oh. Oh, OK. Confound it. Wodehouse section. You may do
better there. Chop chop."
It happened, Lefty. Right before United Café.
