It is now dark outside. The sky is cloudy and the air is heavy and hot, the humidity clinging to us as we go out to your van. Not my car, a sedan with...clear windows. But your van, with tinted windows and a large back seat. We drive away from the parking lot, looking for somewhere darker and more isolated. Somewhere to park away from prying eyes. We both know why we are doing this, but we are still unsure of just how far we will go tonight. We’ve never met before. Strangers in the night. Perhaps. I stood back and examined myself in the mirror and said to myself, hmmm this oughta do it. Dave gave me his hotel info and was to meet him at the hotel restaurant at 6:00.As I was driving I was nervous and excited as I had just realized my boss sold me like a hooker or an escort. I smiled to myself and said , Moni you little slut. I arrived and walked to the restaurant noticing the men looking at me approvingly. I asked the maître D for Mr Johnston's table and he guided me to it. As we were. ’ ‘No, officer,’ she said firmly, uninterested in dealing with Robert ever again. ‘I am busy right now and I don’t think Mr. Trucker would like my presence.’ She heard a man’s laugh from the other end and some shuffling sound. And then it happened. ‘Hello Bitch. Seems like you have found someone to warm your bed,’ the voice from the other end snickered, making the blood drain from her face. No! This couldn’t happen she thought frantically as she looked around the room helplessly. He was. He knew from the last visit that some things were best left unsaid in the USA; as in Britain really. If you were Scottish you could say that Scotland was the arse-end of a cow; if you weren’t then you might get a Glasgow kiss for saying it. Even if Manchester United lost 6:0 to Accrington Stanley; telling a fan they played crap could end up you needing a restorative dentist. Suggesting that the British Empire hadn’t been a force for good, or that Britain hadn’t won the war, or that ... well.
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