It is a cold night tonight in the City of Kings as the I drive down the street. My cellphone sits nicely in the center console with Ella Fitzgerald playing softly through the stereo speakers via bluetooth. A flash of light and a cigarette burns. That signal within me wakes up for just a moment and I quickly turn the volume back down, metaphysically speaking. An inhale now followed by an exhale, smoke flows out of my mouth and is quickly captured by the breeze and goes out the crack that I have open on the window. I don't often smoke in my car, but the evening itself seems to warrant it. It is not nerves, I tell myself that anyway. The Master would be proud of me though, getting out and getting my hands dirty.
"Little Girl should not be afraid to play in dirt, Little птица." I never understood his pet name for me. Little Bird, or ptichka as it were. I think it was how I ate when I actually ate. Picking at my food, looking at him after each bite waiting for him to take it away. He never did.
I pull up to the intersection that is the agreed upon meeting point and wait for my boys. My sedan is black with gray cloth interior, matches the driver I guess. The Master called it nondescript. Personally I think it is a bit of a joke on his part. Very dry sense of humor. More accurately, very Russian.
I wait now, watching out the window for their arrival.