I sensed he did not wish to speak about it further, and so I simply nodded.
“Ready?” he asked. The film was black and white, and it was about a fat, clever man and a thin, stupid man who’d joined the Foreign Legion.
They were patently unsuited to it. At one point, Raymond laughed so much that he sprayed wine all over his duvet.
I choked on a sharing crisp not long afterward and he had to pause the film and thump me on the back to dislodge it.
I was very disappointed when it ended, and also to see that we had eaten all the crisps and drunk most of the wine,
although Raymond had had far more than me—I couldn’t drink wine as quickly as vodka or Magners drink, it seemed.
He walked unsteadily to the kitchen and returned with a big packet of peanuts.
“Fuck,” he said, “bowl.” He came back with a receptacle, into which he attempted to decant the peanuts.
His aim was poor, and he began to pour them all over the coffee table.
I started to laugh—it was just like Stan and Ollie— and then we were both laughing.
He turned off the TV and put on some music, via another mysterious remote-controlled device.
I didn’t recognize it, but it was pleasant; soft and undemanding.
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