At the end of the day, I am sitting at the bar of one of my favourite places in Bastille to wait for Frank.
“Always with nose in your phone!” my friend says in greeting.
He slides on the stool next to mine. I’m irritated by my exchange with Cora and my day in general, so I answer him sharply:
“You're half an hour late, buddy. What exactly did you want me to do? Pull out a book?”
“You could have taken the opportunity to start a conversation with the little blond who’s eating you up with her eyes on the other side of the bar,” he replies, discreetly indicating a young woman behind me with his chin.
Typical Frank. He's not been here a minute before he’s spotting girls.
“And what would you have done if I had walked out with her before you got here?”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“I would ha
