Snapshot: Madrid, Spain, 1980
David and I chose the restaurant from a guidebook that promised Europe on the cheap. The restaurant had blinding fluorescent lights and was empty, except for the two of us and the waiters who sat drinking red wine. We ordered angulas, baby eels the thickness and colour of spaghetti, each strand with a tiny face. As we sucked down the bowlfuls of baby eels, a lone woman entered the restaurant, ate a fast meal and quickly paid her bill.
“That woman is a man”, David whispered when she walked towards the door.
“What? No, she’s not”, I said. “How do you know?”
“I saw her face”, he said. “And look at the waiters. They’re still rolling their eyes.”
I looked. They were laughing.