Friday night, long, unending streams of walk-ins, parties of 5, 6, the phone, take away, that's become a full time station.
It's not smooth and by the end of it all I'm done. Just done.
Get home, text message from - who of all people, RJr, the owners son from Balfour, and so - not bearing a grudge, head out for a drink with him. He's in a fine humour, has his dream job, the restaurant is just a bad memory lost in the past.
It is after a perverse fashion good to see him.
Then home, to the mess that has become my living room. Yesterday, a bunch of books to the bookstore, today I'll go through the apartment and drop some more stuff off at the antique shop. For now, a beautiful day outside, time to go home, put my hands on my hips and try and figure out where to start on this mess of a studio.