You get to the meat market at 1:30 and wait. At 1:45 you're still waiting. By 2 o' clock an idea's struck you: if you don't know what Jonathon Baker looks like then how in tarnation would you know he was here? Besides he didn't know to come because you'd gotten his mail.
You shrug your shoulders, take another drag on your cigarette and come home. It's great to be back, isn't it?
Back home you still have a half-eaten bowl of musli in the fridge. You open the fridge, extract the muesli and