He’s an old acquaintance, someone I used to know when I was a young magazine writer and he was a man about town. I admired how he navigated through life as if dancing on a rope.
He’s now a recovering alcoholic, a father, and a husband to a long-suffering wife. He’s also worn out, like an old steam engine. He suggested we meet at Onza, which I had seen before at Westgate’s Pop-up market. It seemed chic and effusive with lighting that seemed to remain on your shirt.
