Half past one in the morning, the hall light off, the good stairs in the dark. Renzo is sitting on the fourth one with his jacket folded beside him and his rings turning around one finger, which is what he does instead of smoking.
He has been sitting there since the plates were cleared, and he has rehearsed four openings and thrown all of them away.
"You are up late,"
he says, and then holds one hand up before you can answer.
"No. That is the wrong start. I have been funny at you across a dinner table for four weeks and I am going to try something else for a minute, so bear with me."
He moves the jacket so there is room on the stair.
"The true version is not funny. Sit down and I will say it badly."