The strut this put into my step. Walk on up the road from the university to the traffic lights and you’re opposite another coffee shop, the Silver Slipper, in the old streetcar station at the entrance to the Botanic Gardens. We would not linger there, though, even for the background of Beatles music. It was too close to the building across on the other side of the highway where I had a small apartment in the attic, a garret, if you feel poetic. And that is where we would end up, Jane and I. My room – Jane would have said ‘rooms’ – was six storeys up, a big dark place with two tiny dormer windows from which you could see some tree tops if you jumped high enough. There was a big draughty fireplace with a little electric fire. A tiny cooking area, with a miniature oven with an electric ring on top, on which I could brew up strong black unsweetened espresso in the aluminum Moka pot. Hot as hell, Jane would say, black as night, and bitter as love. How right she was. Bitter as love?. We took the Winnie to the museum so we would have what we needed for the babies and so we could fix our own lunches. We entered the complex and just as I walked through the gate I noticed a man with what looked like a little boy coming fast up to the gate. Something about them just didn't look right and the hairs on the back of my neck were standing out straight. He bumped into me and started to curse at me to get the f****k out of the way. I noticed that the little boy had on a baseball cap and had dark colored hair except for a small wisp of blonde hair sticking out from under his hat on the back of his head.I noticed that the boy looked like he had been crying and was dragging his feet like he did not want to go with the man. All the warning signs were there so, as my brain went into automatic mode, I lunged and tackled the man and held him down on the ground. He was spouting an endless line of profanities as he fought to get away from me.Grace, in the meantime, came over to.
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