Advertising

hoity, toity, dressed for a marriage reception in black suede shoes, black cords, a black turtleneck just about showing traces of a red checked shirt around the collar and wearing dark red gloves, i take delicate and conscious bites off shish kebab on a paper napkin.

an old hunched man on a walking stick and in a clumsy suit (i can almost imagine him drooling unconsciously while watching something mediocre on TV) is stopped, is distantly related and is introduced.

'so young man, what do you do?'

'advertising.'

quizzical.

'you know those things between TV serials, i make them.'

'bastard', he mutters and moves off.