I could do a Sartre and overtip, I could fake my way through saying the cocktail was nice when it was not. Still, whatever I do, nothing will ever stop me from being haunted by the look on the face of that Austrian waiter when I got up from the table of a small Viennese cafe without finishing the impossibly tough schnitzel and without leaving a tip.
Thursday, 16 April 2020
travelling notes (cxxii)
I could do a Sartre and overtip, I could fake my way through saying the cocktail was nice when it was not. Still, whatever I do, nothing will ever stop me from being haunted by the look on the face of that Austrian waiter when I got up from the table of a small Viennese cafe without finishing the impossibly tough schnitzel and without leaving a tip.
