Chapter six- Where workaholic Americans drink way too much Iceland Liquor and pretend to like grilled fish 

It starts out as a dinner for eight, but eventually most of the group drifts away- to other bars,  to the hotel or to theaters.  have no idea how the nightlife works when it is this dark and this cold.    I half expect Scott to make an excuse to exit, but he doesn't.    He doesn't so much stay as he doesn't leave.  

So we talk,  for a few hours.  Scott, as it turns out,  does not work as much as I do.  Which is both good (an example of sanity) and bad (shows how bizzare my idea of a Work week has become). 

Scott does fly coast to coast, of course, but makes a habit to take three whole days off a week and a whole week of vacation every two months.  Frequent flier miles spoil you he says, spining a straw in yet another  "I have No idea how to pronounce it"  drink.    He said the word spoil again, I guess for emphasis.   Maybe he wishes someone would spoil him.  Maybe he wishes he could do the spoiling.  Maybe I'm drunk and I'm officially dreaming up unlimited flights around the globe.   New Zealand would be nice.  Maybe Zurick ?

 

 I am, apparently,  staring out into space and he waves his hand in direction.  

Hello?  Anyone home?

 

Nope. Not me.  Not home and glad of it. 

 

Did I just say that out loud?     Ok, watching his smile, I assume I have.  

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