A Man of Letters
Drying my hair this morning, I got to thinking about Patrick. Don’t ask me why. I met Patrick about 12 years ago when I was opening a restaurant in Portobello Road in London. It was about two days before our opening and as I was arguing with two electricians, the coke bitch that was the fiancée of the restaurant owner, a Brazilian kitchen porter who swore he was legally in this country after seeking asylum and that the photo of the different man on his passport was ok with immigration, the front door opened to show a grey haired, grey bearded … Continue reading A Man of Letters