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It was dry and cold just like I liked it.“No, your father said you can’t go out. Is that understood!”The voice came from a woman my age. She was sitting two tables away and she was red in her face. The receptor of her words was her son. He looked as angry as his mother but kept quiet. I went back to my drink.A while later, I felt it was time for a smoke so I finished my wine and went out in the garden surrounding the bar. Smoking wasn’t allowed inside. I found a bench under some tropical tree and lit up. Inhaling deeply, I felt the nicotine rush and I smiled. Life could be pretty good after all.There were footsteps and the young man who had been shouted at by his mother came walking.“Good evening,” I said to be polite.He ignored me. “Hey, don’t be a dick because your mom is a bitch.”He stopped in his tracks and looked at me. “Do you know my mom?”“No, but I know her type. Mine was the same.”He came towards me and then sat down next to me on the bench. “That bad?” I asked.“All I want. He was sure that she wanted him to ask her out, but he just didn’t feel right about it. The evenings were spent in therapy. To his great surprise, therapy was not as horrible as he had imagined, and he had identified a lot of the triggers that caused his rage to emerge.Fridays were spent at the store. He worked the whole day trading off the time at the counter with Mike and Martin. At night, he usually fixed a simple meal at home spending the time after dinner in the company of Henry Buckman. He and the large black man had many things in common besides being big. Henry was a wonder at working with wood while Jerry was talented with metal. Together, they were building a couple of indoor water fountains that could be mounted on walls.Saturdays were spent at the store dealing primarily with walk-in customers. Taking some advice from Karen, he had installed a coffee maker in the display area of the store. Customers were invited to take free cups of coffee while shopping and waiting for.
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