Friday

Friday, late afternoon, after work.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know, what do you want to do?” I decided earlier that we weren’t going out to dinner. Fun, yes, intimate, yes, but we can’t afford our Friday night ritual.

“I’m irritable. I woke up irritable, I took a nap and I’m still irritable. I want to go out.”

“I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

There were half hours waits at the Ninety-nine (Across the street from Concord Park. We’d left Flo watching a Hepburn, Spencer Tracy movie) and the Paparazzi, but plenty of room at the little bar at the Colonial Inn. Mercifully, there was no singer, just the Ric Maure Trio.