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'So, how are you doing?'
'Good, good. I am good'
'Still working your ass off?'
'Hmmm, kind of'
'And, what's her name, how is she?'
'She is fine'
'Are you sure you are OK? You sound pissed'
'...I am not! I only had a glass of wine.. Ah, you mean pissed off. No no no no. Of course not. Why should I be?'
'Dunno. You sound strange'
'Just bored. And busy. Busily bored. Or boringly busy. Take your pick'
'You could always come and work with us. You would be great'
'Thanks, but, no thanks. I know you guys. I am too old for your immense working hours and late nights out'
What an ass hole! Of all the people I know, did I really need to have lunch with him? "What's her name"!? What an ass hole.
George wasn't very pleased. He also didn't like to drink at lunch time. It did make him sound grumpy and frustrated. He blocked off the sound of the guy's voice and looked around. The restaurant was packed, as per usual at that time of the day. City boys. A few well-cut suits. A lot of cheap tat. George liked clothes. To be a straight man and to like clothes this much it was considered either an asset or ridiculous. But it didn't bother him. A stylist, or a fashion designer. Those were job offers he would have considered. Not to move to a firm of obscenely paid wankers. Although the money was most certainly appealing.
'So, what do you think?'
Crap, no idea what he was talking about.
'What do you think? I am very interested in your own opinion'
Easy. The man just loves the sound of his voice.
George wished he was still in school and someone could come and take him back to the classroom urging him to finish his lunch. But school doesn't happen in your 30's. He had to find an escape route by himself.