She knew my feelings on the subject so we had an understanding, I didn’t ask her about them and she never spoke of them in my presents. While on my way to her house, I called her from my car to let her know I‘d be there in just a few minutes. Knowing her dirty, little mind, I thought I’d tease her a little over the phone and told her about meeting a secret love. I knew she would be chomping at the bit for all the dirty little details. I picked her up at her house then drove a couple miles to the little restaurant where we usually ate. She could hardly contain herself. As soon as we had been seated and our orders taken, Amber leaned over and whispered, “Okay, enough of the suspense, tell me about this secret love of yours.” I laughed. “Well, there’s nothing secret about it, I just ran into my very first love from high school the other day.” We sat and I told her the whole story, including the nightmare that was supposed to be our wonderful, first time. As I spoke about that day. She marked both on a campus map and I thanked her. I had a ghastly "quiklunch" across the street – overpriced to take advantage of students. But it gave me a place to scan my Manual for Postgraduates, where I learned that I could go by the Dean's office. I decided to do so – what did I risk? – as soon as I had been to the student housing blokes.(Four years in Brisbane had rewarded me with an honours diploma and the knowledge that getting things done at a university meant inordinate trekking about and time-wasting, while requiring patience and persistance.)The people in the housing office were quite nice – largely, I suspected, because I was their only "customer." They showed me a number of listing and located them for me on a map. The range was enormous, but I was going to try for under $1000 per month. It turned out that there were both furnished and unfurnished places in Kensington and Kingsford. The cheapest had no parking spaces. I decided that I'd weed the offerings without.
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