Incidental Music

Morcheeba is playing. I taste the local delicacy he has transferred to my plate and I think of witty things to say. I namedrop. It is not going too badly. Then I namedrop a name painful to me and this name calls forth stories on his side. The significance of which is impossible for me to gage. The little he knows about me is a good measure of the little I know about him. But I know I have hit on something here. He looks at me rather intently and asks. 'He is working on A., isn't he?' This may be the one single moment in which his real, vulnerable and almost tactile self has shone through.