“I spoke to them last month, they said they were going to run it down in their weekly general meeting. They love it. It’s anarcho-radio. Plus, they all want high-speed connectivity in the store so they can webcast their poetry slams. Just go on by and introduce yourself, tell ’em I sent you.”
Ambrose nodded and skewered up a hunk of omelet and swirled it in the live yogurt the Greek served, and chewed. “All right,” he said, “I’ll do it this afternoon. You look exhausted, by the way. Hard night in the salt mines?”
Kurt looked at his watch. “I got about an hour’s worth of diving in. I spent the rest of the night breaking up with Monica.”
“Monica?”
“The girlfriend.”
“Already? I thought you two just got together last month.”
Kurt shrugged. “Longest fucking month of my life. All she wanted to do was go clubbing all night. She hated staying over at my place because of the kids coming by in the morning to work on the access points.”
“I’m sorry, pal,” Andy said. He never knew what to do about failed romance. He’d had no experience in that department since the seventh grade, after all. “You’ll find someone else soon enough.”
“Too soon!” Kurt said. “We screamed at each other for five hours before I finally got gone. It was probably my fault. I lose my temper too easy. I should be more like you.”
“You’re a good man, Kurt. Don’t forget it.”