A moment of reserve. “That was it? The whole story?” “Yes. God, you’re right. That was pants.” I sidestep another aggressive couscous vendor. “Pants?” “Rubbish. Crap. Shite.” Pants. Oh heavens, that’s cute.
Beautiful Hallway Boy (Am I supposed to call him Etienne or St. Clair?) drops his bag and slides into the remaining seat between Rashmi and me. “Anna.” He’s surprised to see me, and I’m startled, too. He remembers me.