Thursday, 12 March 2009

The IBM man has dyed his hair.

He looked slightly more youthful. Slightly more like he could kill a robot. And quite tired. He looked like he was wanting nothing more than to run up to his wife and put his head in her lap and fall asleep. But he was shaking hands with me and bracing himself for the long drive home.

I was mainly glad it’s nearly Friday. And running home to a bake potato.

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