Volition

I woke up this morning around half-past ten, massively late for work again, with this massively painful throbbing feeling coming from my right foot. Deciding to hunt for the source of the pain, I looked at my foot and to my suprise found quite a large burn on it, complete with bulging blister. The blister alone seemed to hold enough liquid to supply a small community with wierd body fluid for weeks. It seems that drunkenly crashing in a beanbag in front of a oil-column heater is a pretty stupid thing to do. But I digress.

As I was hobbling around my house, getting ready for the day ahead, a knock sounds from my back door. I open it to a middle aged man with bit of a paunch and some big retro sunglasses is standing there, resplendent in something that looks like a ten-pin bowling team's uniform. He asks for my landlord (whose office is above my apartment). I point out that if he is not upstairs, he most likely isn't around. He then goes on to explain that he's interesting in renting this building, which was kind of suprising given I live there, but expands further saying that now that Roma's is out of business, he wants to start up a cafe there. This was even more suprising; on a level similar to waking up with half of one's foot burnt off.

Last I knew Roma's was going fine. Swell. Never been better. They were always busy. But sure enough, after hobbling downstars the place was closed and a big liquidation notice plastered on the door. Bit of a shame, really. I hope what ever opens up there has an equally clueful approach to food and presentation as Roma's did.

And I really need to stop giving people's phone numbers out to random others. That's twice now. Stop it, stop it, stop it!