No one felt like eating – except Johnny with his scrambled eggs. He leaned forward over his plate and sucked them off his fork as fast as he could, the moisture making them like Jell-O. Roberta wasn’t much good at story telling and she just sat there with a kind of scowl. Or was it a squint from the direct sunlight overhead. Sundays in May can be like that. Somehow we haven’t adapted yet to bright light of the sun. No, this wasn’t even the hangover. Somehow they had decided that it wasn’t going to be easy to avoid telling, and this put Roberta in a bad mood. They may have even argued.
Saturday had started out gloomy and overcast with the temperature around 22 c. when Johnny called me asking what I was doing – the obligatory call of a best mate bored as usual. It’s not my fault that Johnny was a thrill seeker. It made no difference to me. That’s probably why we had been hanging around for so long. On and off since high school and even through college I had been the one who was stable, but it was more than that. We both craved adventure. We didn’t need to stand out in a crowd necessarily – but we did want to have a story or two to tell on Monday mornings. We just went about it in different ways. Johnny was like an unwound ball of elastic waiting to spring into action. I was a catalyst – coming up with the ideas and that was why Johnny was calling: another adventure?