Page 56 - SpontaneousSuccessMatos

his pen as if he was about to smoke it and circled my
destination. I squeezed a ten escudo note into his hand.
His face lit up and he bowed slightly. “Thank you.
Senhor.”
"Nick. I’m Nick."
"Mister Nick. Thank-you Mister Nick."
You never know when you need a friend.
Around 8:45 I set off for The Mexicana. Down the
street and around the roundabout then up the grand
boulevard on the other side. Lisbon’s traffic is just a mad
race from one set of traffic lights to the next. The
Portuguese drive as if they are stock car racers, weaving,
yelling, carving up and parking anywhere they feel like. I
felt more alive than I had in the last three months in the
Algarve. It took me an hour to get there on foot.
All the waiters seemed to know Jose Prazeres. "Mais
tarde," they'd say flicking their fingers upwards, "later."
I was on my third coffee and half asleep. When I
focused, a young man in a white shirt and rusty brown
slacks was sitting in the chair next to me. He looked like
a giant chipmunk with a huge mop of black curly hair
and thick glasses.
"Mister Nick. I understand you have been looking for
me."
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