Trust me, she says as she slams the trunk closed.

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Trust me, she says as she slams the trunk closed.

She’s got something back already.She’s twice her natural size.He thinks he likes her, but he has no way to know for certain.She has too much to offer him to be a simple proposition right now.She gives him a dozen ways to find her, as they walk the long miles from here to there.That person will always know how to reach her, eventually.She says, more than once, You saved my life. And he knows what she means.It’ll take about eight hours.Waggle your feet, she says, or you’ll get a cramp.It hurts and you’re not going to be able to get out.What about you?He had that envelope ready from the start, stuck with stamps.He’s not going to post anything to Nina.If he sees her again, he’ll eat her heart in the marketplace.He has a marker pen.be sent around the world.People should know, he says to himself, what has happened here.He scribbles quickly, without thinking too hard.He runs for the postbox.He slots the package into the chute and closes the lid again.He is back in position when the car stops at the curb.There is a blonde woman behind the wheel with a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes.There’s a crest on it that says JetLife.She smiles.Her English is thickly accented.She says, Roxy Monke sent me.Will be there before morning.She opens the back of the car.It is a sedan, roomy enough, though he’ll have to keep his knees curled against his chest.She helps him climb into the trunk of the car.The trunk is clean, at least.As his nose meets the curled fibers of the interior carpet he smells only the floral chemical scent of shampoo.She gives him a large bottle of water.When finished, can piss in bottle.


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