Men’s Night
The five of us sit on worn lounge chairs that have been upholstered with heavily textured cloth of the kind which catches on your clothes when you try to move. Overhead are three big neon lights and—as a kind of centre-piece between our lounges—is a coffee table, which is also serving as a tea-towel rack, a resting place for bare feet, and a bench for upturned books and dirty coffee cups.
Three of the guys are almost falling on top of each other with curiosity and laughter as they look at some new gadgetry on a phone. Another one’s buried in cyberspace and I’ve just been informed that no one’s made any plans. Excellent! And! to top it all off, we’re about to enjoy a hearty feed of steak, which is not far away on the table—but we’re politely waiting for the one laggart who’s supposedly on his way to join us.
And here comes the late arrival! We say grace and the night begins: men’s night that is, at the Orange Cornerstone team-house. Just what the doctor ordered.
