But my English is not too good. I said I didn’t think you lived here. Are you a tourist?”“Your English is fine,” I answered. “I’m here on ...usiness. Just through Monday. Should you be sitting here with me, drinking beer? Aren’t you working?” I already knew, by observation, that his work made allowances for flirting and fucking, but it was the first thing I thought of to prolong the conversation.“I served my last beer for the afternoon—to you. I am free now to do what I like. You knew what kind. She didn’t speak French so the communication with the delivery man was minimal. I went downstairs and saw the landlady heading to her little cubicle looking puzzled or maybe curious. The man was delivering two paintings I had bought at auction in a city nearby. I didn’t expect them so soon. They were in two rectangular boxes, but they were heavy and bulky so that they couldn’t be carried together by one person.Finally, I focused on the delivery man. He was about my age with grey hair. He was. More

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