I sit in the same café, the warmth of the coffee courses through me. She sits opposite me, her hair blonde and sleek from the rain. I hand her the small tape and a small pile of rigidly typed notes.
"You know I can't tell the whole story," I say. She nods.
"Yes, I know. But it is a story that must be told."
"Yes," I reach into my pocket. "Smoke?" I proffer my packet of cigarettes.
"No. I shouldn't." She quickly gets to her feet. "I should go. Good bye." She walks out. So, the first stage has come to an end and now I must write. I order another coffee, take the pen into my hand and begin to write. She was right, it is a tale that must be told.