I have finished for the evening. We tried to tidy up throughout the shift, but there are dirty cocktail napkins and glasses on every table, muddy footprints on the floor. I will be cleaning for a good few hours yet.
We had a Gardener in this evening, and she made a comment about my arm. I’m not that surprised. In that profession, you cannot fuss over hurting feelings. This lady must have seen thousands die, and hundreds die twice.
It’s quiet here at the moment. We get a few sleepy crew members from beaten up transport ships, who want coffee and a seat in the corner. All they bring to Buber are parsnipheads and a lack of conversation.