Stan's lightly fictionalised journal
Wednesday 2 August
I woke up at nine O'clock. That's too goddam early. I looked at the dame lying next to me and groaned. I'd agreed to take her to Belgium. I hate Belgium.
I looked at my bike and groaned. The tire needed changing. I'd have to take it down to see Locky. Locky was a good guy, and a good mechanic. He loved his work. But if you went to his workshop first thing in the morning you'd be lucky to get out in time for lunch. If there's one thing he loved more than his work, it's talking about it.
I looked at the dame's bike. It looked good. Too good. Whenever I'd biked with her before I'd had the better bike. But now her's was better.
With a bike like that she'd be beating off those Belgian guys with a stick. She'd better be anyway.