s**t. He knew I was sleeping at the Orpheum? f**k. Was this the “it’s been nice to know you, now get out” meal? Crap.
It was frigid outside, and I had nowhere to go except stand in line for a cot. Dammit. I’d blown it. He knew.
Now I clutched the bills in my pocket and regretted saying yes to this invitation to eat. s**t. What was I supposed to do? What could I tell him? He’d called it my theater.
If I said I wasn’t living there, I’d be lying, and he’d know it. Dammit to hell. I was really screwed this time.
The server showed us to a table and handed us menus as I stewed at my dilemma.
“How’re you doing, Mick? We haven’t seen you in here lately.” She moved the place settings around so there were only two of them. “Decaf tonight?”
She was a friend of sorts, somebody I could chat with
