Drops by Sylvia’s office with coffee, sits there complaining about work, the dog, Ivan, union meetings, tax deadlines, judges, landlords, the demoralising idiocy of various named individuals. Stop, you’re terrible. How am I wrong? Feeling he gets when one of her colleagues puts their head round the door, asking for something, and he’s sitting with her, the two of them bickering together. What is that: to be witnessed, yes.
