3:40, still two hours before work. Work? Well, what passed for work. He eyed the closet where his last clean uniform hung. White shirt, black trousers...and black cummerbund. The outfit of a waiter at the Café Du Margarite. Another uniform hung there, still sealed in the black plastic of the dry cleaners. How long since that had been put there? A year? Two? Maybe more. Nelson’s mind struggled with the bland routine that had become his life. Time simply had no meaning. With effort, Nelson pieced. " What's that?"He looks so comfortable on the old sofa that instead of taking my usual seat in the armchair I hand him a glass and pile in beside him, still chilly as the heating hasn't caught up yet. "I ... I've never brought anyone back here before." Never?" Nope. Not even when I was a kid." What, no teen fumblings?" Not here. Dad caught me a few times with a boy in the house, and once with a girl, but that's a different story." Were you a bad girl then?" Medium." So why not in here? It's. More

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