But I never realized Mrs. Patel knew him as anything more than a regular customer.
“Do you remember George?” she asked.
“No.”
“The first name.”
She pointed to the top of the card.
GEORGE.
Mrs. Patel leaned against the desk.
“About seven years ago, Michael came in early one morning and noticed a man washing his face in the restroom.”
“Why?”
“Because George had been sleeping in his car.” BookSleep Studies
Lily stayed silent.
Mrs. Patel continued.
“He had a job interview that morning. Michael saw him trying to straighten a shirt that looked like he’d slept in it.”
I could practically hear Michael before she even repeated what he had said.
“He asked George if he had an interview. George answered, ‘I’m fine.’”
Mrs. Patel smiled.
“Michael looked at his shirt and said, ‘Didn’t ask that.’”
I closed my eyes.
That was exactly Michael.
If he asked whether your ankle hurt and you answered, “I’m okay,” it irritated him.
