Post Lunch

There was an old Jewish chick following me up Chapel Street after lunch in her silver Mercedes, she was a gun. She looked like she was in her seventies, with her red permed hair and her thick glasses and her burberry scarf. As I weaved in and out of the traffic, passing all the idiots, getting next to trams and racing them off at the lights, whipping through the orange lights as all those around me dilly dallied and were left behind, there she was right behind me, hoiking that Mercedes through the traffic like a pro.

I was very impressed.

I had lunch with Rachel in Chapel Street. She took six months off last September when she sold her restaurant and she's still not working. We both agreed how much unemployment suits us.

This week was my week to get my act together and get out there and look for work.

I'm thinking I might brush off that old romance novel and get writing.