I spend the rest of the week in the most god-awful funk, compounded by the fact that every day at exactly one p.m. Jackson appears as if out of thin air, sits down in his booth and eats his bloody grilled cheese sandwich without saying a word to me. By the end of the week, he is on first-name terms with all of the staff and Devon has developed a bit of a man-crush, probably triggered when he realised Jackson is the guitarist of his ‘most favourite band of all time’. Even Finn, who has shown the most restraint, opting for ‘Team Kat’, seems to be softening towards him, so much so that I even caught them having a conversation which ended up in a manly fist-bump. Men! Why can’t they hold a decent grudge, for f**k’s sake?
Everyone seems to know the purpose of these daily visits, except me. I c
