The man next to him showed him his fresh scars and told him that he had been a retired CIA agent for almost two years now. He waited till the man next to him stopped bragging about secret operations that he once carried out for his government.
When his travel companion was finally asleep he ventured a look over his right shoulder. Two seats further back and on the other side of the isle of the bus she sat.
'-flowers-flowers-' reverberated in his head. Part of the lyric of a romantic song that suddenly came to him.
Earlier that day they had discussed through body language that any action that was to take place would have to take place now. In the dead of night. They were behaving like the excited young twenty-somethings they felt they were. And which in fact they were.
It was pitch-black because the bus was driving through a stretch of desert land. The last lights, belonging to a roadside cafe and pump station, had been left behind some two hours ago.
The soothing hum of the motor had lulled most passengers to sleep. -flowers-flowers-. In the back a junkie lay rambling and profusely sweating. He hadn't had a shot for too long. A man in a fisherman's hat seemed to be reading but hadn't turned a page in at least 20 minutes and had probably dozed off as well.
This was their chance. The friend she was travelling with and who sat beside her was snoring softly and he took his chance.
-flowers-flowers-
Seldom before had a kiss tasted so delicious and so forbidden.
The address she gave proved to be false. But the memory of that kiss was one that he would forever cherish.
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