We got chatting.
I normally don’t talk to strangers in bars, but his eyes were compelling and he wore a thin layer of vulnerability, like hand-me-down knitwear that had no ‘give’ to it anymore.
I watched him eat all the cashews in the bowl before starting on the almonds. I didn’t say that this bothered me. A lot.
Instead I mentioned that my car was at the mechanics getting a new front-end fitted. I’d lost my licence on account of having run down a not-so-little old lady. My car was a wreck, but she’d bounced very well – for an octogenarian.