with the Telegraph crossword, a tuna and sweet corn bloomer, salt and vinegar crisps and orange juice, with bits.
I must thank the musician, in due course, for introducing me to the pleasure of bits.
After this delicious repast, and with a small grin of triumph at the thought of my colleagues
having to remain behind at their desks for the rest of the afternoon, I took a bus into town.
Heliotrope was in a smart street in the city center, on the ground floor of a Victorian sandstone building.
It was certainly not the sort of place I’d usually frequent—loud music, aggressively fashionable staff and far too many mirrors.
I imagined this might be where the musician went for a haircut, and that made me feel slightly better about it.
Perhaps one day we’d be sitting side by side in those black leather chairs, holding hands under the hair dryers.
I waited for the receptionist to finish her phone call, and stepped away from the huge vase of white and pink lilies on the counter.
Their smell snagged in the back of my throat, like fur or feathers. I gagged; it wasn’t something meant for humans.
I’d forgotten how noisy hairdressers’ salons were, the constant hum of dryers and inane chat,
and positioned myself in the window seat, having donned a black nylon kimono which, I was alarmed to see,
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색