“Thank you, my good man,” I said to the fellow when he handed me another goblet of the saccharine wine. I took a sip, once again fighting the urge to spit it out. “How’s this?” I asked Faffa.
“I’m telling Bruni,” he said, folding his gangly arms over his chest.
“Tell her,” I replied with a shrug. “She’s not my mother either, you know.”
my* * *
I felt odd the next morning. The events of the previous evening were a blur, as though I had imbibed far beyond my limit. However, I was as clear-headed and energetic as someone who had abstained. Although I was relieved that I was not feeling the effects of overindulgence, that relief fled my body when I walked into the sitting area that I shared with Bruni and Faffa to find the latter giving a detailed rendition of my exploits the evening past.
