And then what happened was
So I moved to London, as I said. It took me about forever to find anyone. I really had the sensation that people were looking right through me, even more so than Paris. At least in Paris they would acknowledge me when they wanted something! Social town, you know. In London everyone was very intent on their own Newtonian trajectories, described by private polynomials.
I finally found them. Eventually I heard where Rothenstein had installed himself; that man, like every striving mediocrity, makes waves everywhere he goes. You don’t even need to scan the horizon, he’ll pop up right in your viewfinder, soon enough. He’s one of those who looks at you through closed eyes, for emphasis, confident that you’ll still be there at the end of his point. And, irritatingly enough, you will.
So anyway, at least Rothenstein was my friend.
Well, because he’s everyone’s friend, so I’m factored in.
They had all holed up in the Cafe Royal in Chelsea, in the back, in the domino room. Dominos! Those irritating binary bricks. Puzzles are for tiny minds. What does it matter, if you can arrange things this way or that, if the game is solid or linear, if you win or lose. Only ants in their off-hours would find this amusing.
Well anyway, Cafe Royal served absinthe, and they were all there, so there is where I went. It’s where I met Beerbohm, not long after. My frenemy.
