Farewell to Dan

I took the keys back. It was not without incident.

I suppose I arrived at the restaurant at about 3 in the afternoon and the grill was open but the door was locked. The lights were on, a computer was turned on on a table, but there was nobody around.

I knocked. No answer.

Meanwhile a woman was hanging out of an upstairs window across the narrow street crying.

I phoned the restaurant and got the answering machine.

A man came round the corner and yelled instructions and insults to the woman. "Die, son of a prostitute," he cried.

She threw a glass down at him, which shattered and spread shards all over the street.

I sent a message to Jérôme via sms and Facebook.

"Phone the police!" yelled the woman. And say what, exactly, I though to myself.

The man periodically left and returned, repeating his instructions and insults to the woman.
He noticed me and decided I was calling the police and taking photos. I assured him that I was waiting for the restaurant, but then I decided that it wasn't absolutely necessary that I hand the keys over in person, posted them through the door, left a message saying the keys were there and left.

Jérôme later phoned me and we had a nice chat. He'd been in the kitchen preparing the New Year's Eve meal.


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