Friday, February 3

PUTTANESCA AND FRIENDS

I’m not sure if C. and I are still friends. Last time we saw eachother she stormed into my favourite restaurant, saying: ‘I didn’t have time to buy you a birthday present, cause the Polish ambassador was my priority this week.’ She was forty minutes late, wore a new black dress and the highest heels I’ve ever seen. ‘Maybe you should have dinner with the Polish ambassador,’ I replied. She ordered pasta puttanesca and a glass of sparkling wine. We then pretended to have a normal conversation, but she never looked into my eyes.