Dating : Columns

Maybe it’s the angle but I’m pretty certain the columns aren’t touching the ceiling.

“but really Foster Wallace has to be read at least twice to be truly appreciated.”

He loves answering a question no one has asked. His portion of the lamb must be unpleasantly cool by now. I get the sense this entire evening is well rehearsed. A scenic walk to the Lebanese restaurant, red wine, a sharing plate, more wine, hotel bar, a well-timed kiss by the river, hand resting on the thigh in the taxi, home for whisky, “has anyone ever told you that you have the most amazing eyes?”, ten minutes of dispassionate fucking.

They’re clearly not structurally integral and they take up a lot of space. What over ambitious restaurateur chooses columns?

“it really changed my view on the craft of writing, because that’s what it is, a craft.”

I’m glad he chose Lebanese food, but this pomegranate seed has made itself at home in my molar. This conversation started with him asking “on your deathbed what do you think you’ll regret?” not many of my first dates have a death bed question before appetisers, I will give him that.

But if there’s a gap, doesn’t that mean the space between column and ceiling gets dusty? It can’t be possible to clean. You’d need some kind of extra long duster with a hinge and even then, I doubt it would work.

“you need to read it sometime. I would lend you my copy, but I’ve just scrawled so many annotations it’s barely legible.”

I wait a moment to ensure he’s done. “Rupert, can I ask you a question?”

He leans forward an almost imperceptible amount and looks above his glasses. “Of course. You can ask me anything you want, I’m all yours.”

“Are those columns touching the ceiling?”