A BBC in Paris

Stepping away from her, I was set upon by the husband, he hugged me for joy, kissing my cheeks, he then shook my hand with a giant smile. I quickly looked at my watch before asking him for his telephone number. I thought I could speak with Staff Sergeant Dedi about getting my flight delayed a day, but I saw they were gone. They had blended into the crowd and moved on.

In a way that was for the best, there was a war going on without me, and I had a flight to catch to join it. Looking back at the phone booth, I could see a small puddle of white goo, it must have oozed out when she went down on me.

Smiling at this, I started strolling down the street humming the tune of La Marseillaise. I still had one errand left to run before I caught my flight.

A few minutes later I walked out of the courier shop with an empty parcel, I wrote Bruno's name and address on it from his driver's licence. I then tossed in his wallet, I had no need of his money, and I didn't blame him for doing his job.

Slipping the parcel into the bin for delivery, I realized that I didn't feel as lost and distressed as much as I did that morning. Perhaps it was blowjob in the strip club, or the brawl in the alleyway, maybe it was the sex in the phone booth. I wasn't quite sure.

Much later sitting in the lounge in Dubai, with fat sheiks, and bewildered tourist walking by me. I was waiting for my connection to Kabul, when it dawned on me... that stripper in Paris, I had seen those steel grey eyes before!