“Joe? How do you—” “He bought an amp. Marshall DSL40.”
“When?” “Friday.” “He was in Bedford?” “Unless it was a hologram. Like Tupac.”
He was probably visiting Ravi, Nora thought. Ravi was her brother’s best friend.
While Joe had given up the guitar and moved to London, for a crap IT job he hated, Ravi had stuck to Bedford.
He played in a covers band now, called Slaughterhouse Four, doing pub gigs around town.
“Right. That’s interesting.” Nora was pretty certain her brother knew Friday was her day off.
The fact prodded her from inside. “I’m happy here.” “Except you aren’t.”
He was right. A soul-sickness festered within her. Her mind was throwing itself up.
She widened her smile. “I mean, I am happy with the job. Happy as in, you know, satisfied. Neil, I need this job.”
“You are a good person. You worry about the world. The homeless, the environment.”
“I need a job.” He was back in his Confucius pose.
“You need freedom.” “I don’t want freedom.” “This isn’t a non-profit organisation. Though I have to say it is rapidly becoming one.”
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