Page 50 - SpontaneousSuccessFINAL6

NICHOLAS BOOTHMAN
the main bar to watch Benfica play Juventus of Italy in
the semi-finals of the Champions League Cup on the TV
dangling from a chain in the corner. This was a very big
deal. The whole country was on edge.
“That will rot your guts.” Thomas scooped up my
glass and set down a heavy carafe of red in its place. “Try
this,” he said. The owner dropped a couple of clean
glasses and a plate of potato and codfish fritters between
us. Thomas filled the glasses and sat down across from
me in front of the open window. It was so bright outside
that I couldn't see his face—just a halo around his head
from the backlight.
“I can't spend the winter here,” I said. "I looked at
myself in the mirror this morning and decided I don't
want to go back to England just to conjure-up dreams to
sell advertising again.”
He nodded and looked away.
“Tomorrow morning, I‘m getting a lift to Lisbon
with Carlos, the Fado singer; he‘s driving back to finish
his military service.”
"And who do you know in Lisbon?”
“Actually, no one. Not yet. I‘ll get a room and see
what happens. Like I did here.”
“Cheers,” Thomas tipped his glass at me.
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