Ira smiled at the sight of his friend and returned Staas’ hug only somewhat sheepishly. “I know. Better than being late, though.”
Promptly as he’d come, they didn’t waste much time in leaving El Torro to head back up the street towards Little Sprouts, icy gusts of wind jostling the two along at their backs. The usual greetings were exchanged as the two walked along, Staas impatiently waving aside Ira’s inquiries about the day at the restaurant to interrogate him on how Sunday night out clubbing had gone.
Which of course Ira had to be coy about for a couple of minutes, just to wind the other man up. But eventually he decided to stop torturing Staas and started talking: Heliotrope was a nice (if incredibly purple, as the name suggested) place with lots of pretentiously interesting music and coffee and cocktails. Not too loud or crowded, which was nice. And absolutely oozing with all kinds of pleasant, obnoxiously attractive hipsters. He’d definitely be going back, Ira admitted ruefully, as they continued down the road and the tight-knit blocks began to thin out into grass lots and shorter buildings.
“Not a hardcore club for drinking and dancing. Little more low-key, but that’s how I like it. I had a good time.” He shrugged and looked down the street to spot the long yellow structure that was the day care center in the near distance. The sight of it gave Ira pause for a moment.
“You know that I wouldn’t sign up for this if I wasn’t serious about it, right? I understand that it’s a big deal. But it’s not a big deal for me to do it, of course,” Ira added hastily, and chuckled. “That was supposed to make sense.”