"Bitch, my bags."
Not the best first
impression, but cursory fares at the start of what Ester knew would be a
frantic night weren’t worth a moment's concern. She'd had worse from greasy men
like this – dark clothes, sneakers, puffs from a menthol Parliament One
punctuating the mental shifts, between objectification and utter disregard –
and sadly, imperceptibly, she’d become used to it.
"I apologise for my
friend," the man's short, scruffy companion lifted the trunk, laid a charcoal
laptop satchel inside and tossed a limp duffle bag after it. "He's a
recent arrival and an asshole."
"Fuck you Sayid!"
The two men jostled like sleepy dogs, still trained on their smokes.
"It's no problem,"
Ester unlatched the back door as she returned to her seat, a whiff of air
freshener offering a moment's pause as cigarettes were extinguished and the men
slipped into the cab.
"Where are you
headed?"
"Ah, being served by a
beautiful woman so soon," the tall stranger spread his arms across the car's
parcel shelf, shutting his eyes for a moment. "Take us to the Cathedral of
the Saints Peter and Mary. We want to see the fireworks over the Rhine and the
short dresses on the girls."
Ester ignored his predatory
musings and focused on a quick route. She knew the Komödienstraße would be
jammed with central station commuters by this time on New Year's Eve. "I
can take you to Kardinal-Höffner-Platz. Just a short walk from there."
"Thank you," the
man named Sayid nodded his appreciation as they glided away, his unfortunate
friend lost in hedonistic dreams out the window.
“The girls here are all
supposed to be fucking – “.
Ester didn’t catch the word,
but the man named Sayid smirked, and a shiver rattled her spinal column as they
cruised into central Cologne.
Brendan McBryde
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