SummerMorning
ah...
- Joined
- Dec 27, 2003
- Posts
- 1,986
there, I finally got around to it, Honey!
SUMMER HONEY I
Noise blaring. The Pioneer’s amplitude lights winked at me in the dusk. I switched off the radio in disgust. Some kind of techno you’d need a solid dose of X to stomach. Now, I’ve done drugs and I’ve done drugs, but there’s things that aren’t worth the bother. Like X. Like music you need to dope up to groove to, well, just doesn’t rock my boat.
I slumped back in the car seat and stared out the open window at the sea. The Adriatic was a glimmering smooth surface fading to black. Sunset was tingeing the surf red. Brine, salt. Good smells after a long day on the road.
It was a couple of months since the little party at Dirt’s villa. Well, little party. Bit of a swing, bit of an orgy. I’d paid little enough attention to the thing after I found Honey there. She was quite the wild lass. Maybe not the kinkiest of the lot, but sure ready to try things. I thought back to those few days often.
I creased a ten euro bill and dropped a pinch of tobacco on it. In the hills up behind me were the university and the seminar. Right now, it didn’t seem to matter much. I held the oily Moroccan hashish in my palm to warm it up before tearing off small chunks and rolling them into little strings to add to the tobacco. My credit cards were nearly maxed; my car was low on gas. Not much to do but wait for the paycheck to arrive. Three days. I mixed the tobacco and hash carefully before placing it on the cigarette paper and rolling a slim. Crooked, but it’d do. I wasn’t looking for an aesthetics degree here after all.
I pulled a drag and held the oily smoke in my lungs for a bit before exhaling. The first stars came twinkling out of the sky. Nightfall. On a whim I pulled out my mobile and ran through the address book, there she was. Honey.
I didn’t know her actual name, I doubt she knew mine. I’m not paranoid, but nowadays the internet can reveal quite a bit to somebody interested enough. She’d seemed rather interested enough. I preferred the anonymity of pseudonym. I pressed the button with the little green telephone symbol. Green for call, red for hang up. Silence is the stoppage. We must talk all the time.
No time for semiotics now, the phone was ringing. By my rather vague calculation it should be about ten o’clock where she was.
A voice, “Hello?”
She sounded a bit confused, maybe not expecting the call. But it was her voice. Honey. Maybe slightly husky, just enough to appeal and invite.
“Honey,” I said. I paused.
“Summer?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“My God, where’ve you been?”
I smiled to myself; it was good to hear an enthusiastic voice. “Around,” I said, “Quite the ways around. It’s good to hear you.”
“You too! But, why’re you calling?”
“Can you catch a plane tonight?” I asked her, on impulse. Almost daring her. Almost daring myself. I took another drag and held my breath, waiting on her answer.
“A plane?” she sounded surprised. No surprise there.
I exhaled, “Yeah, a plane. Say, the… say Lesbos?”
“Lesbos?”
“Greece, Sappho.”
“I know, I know. But isn’t it far?”
“Come.”
She hesitated a moment, then said, “Ok.”
I wished I’d hit the lottery jackpot. I’d have felt something like I did then.
“I’ll meet you at the airport.” I hung up before she could change her mind, stubbed out the joint and gunned the engine. The starter choked a bit before it caught.
As I drove towards the new Marco Polo airport in Venice I had my phone in hand again. A friend on Lesbos, Kara, was about to do me a favor.
***
SUMMER HONEY I
Noise blaring. The Pioneer’s amplitude lights winked at me in the dusk. I switched off the radio in disgust. Some kind of techno you’d need a solid dose of X to stomach. Now, I’ve done drugs and I’ve done drugs, but there’s things that aren’t worth the bother. Like X. Like music you need to dope up to groove to, well, just doesn’t rock my boat.
I slumped back in the car seat and stared out the open window at the sea. The Adriatic was a glimmering smooth surface fading to black. Sunset was tingeing the surf red. Brine, salt. Good smells after a long day on the road.
It was a couple of months since the little party at Dirt’s villa. Well, little party. Bit of a swing, bit of an orgy. I’d paid little enough attention to the thing after I found Honey there. She was quite the wild lass. Maybe not the kinkiest of the lot, but sure ready to try things. I thought back to those few days often.
I creased a ten euro bill and dropped a pinch of tobacco on it. In the hills up behind me were the university and the seminar. Right now, it didn’t seem to matter much. I held the oily Moroccan hashish in my palm to warm it up before tearing off small chunks and rolling them into little strings to add to the tobacco. My credit cards were nearly maxed; my car was low on gas. Not much to do but wait for the paycheck to arrive. Three days. I mixed the tobacco and hash carefully before placing it on the cigarette paper and rolling a slim. Crooked, but it’d do. I wasn’t looking for an aesthetics degree here after all.
I pulled a drag and held the oily smoke in my lungs for a bit before exhaling. The first stars came twinkling out of the sky. Nightfall. On a whim I pulled out my mobile and ran through the address book, there she was. Honey.
I didn’t know her actual name, I doubt she knew mine. I’m not paranoid, but nowadays the internet can reveal quite a bit to somebody interested enough. She’d seemed rather interested enough. I preferred the anonymity of pseudonym. I pressed the button with the little green telephone symbol. Green for call, red for hang up. Silence is the stoppage. We must talk all the time.
No time for semiotics now, the phone was ringing. By my rather vague calculation it should be about ten o’clock where she was.
A voice, “Hello?”
She sounded a bit confused, maybe not expecting the call. But it was her voice. Honey. Maybe slightly husky, just enough to appeal and invite.
“Honey,” I said. I paused.
“Summer?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“My God, where’ve you been?”
I smiled to myself; it was good to hear an enthusiastic voice. “Around,” I said, “Quite the ways around. It’s good to hear you.”
“You too! But, why’re you calling?”
“Can you catch a plane tonight?” I asked her, on impulse. Almost daring her. Almost daring myself. I took another drag and held my breath, waiting on her answer.
“A plane?” she sounded surprised. No surprise there.
I exhaled, “Yeah, a plane. Say, the… say Lesbos?”
“Lesbos?”
“Greece, Sappho.”
“I know, I know. But isn’t it far?”
“Come.”
She hesitated a moment, then said, “Ok.”
I wished I’d hit the lottery jackpot. I’d have felt something like I did then.
“I’ll meet you at the airport.” I hung up before she could change her mind, stubbed out the joint and gunned the engine. The starter choked a bit before it caught.
As I drove towards the new Marco Polo airport in Venice I had my phone in hand again. A friend on Lesbos, Kara, was about to do me a favor.
***
