Whistling at the dark

Minutes after Ovi left for “work” at Pinocchio last night (his quotes, not mine), I got a phone call from him telling me that Marek was coming up the street, our street. Something or someone is bringing him to my neighborhood. It’s the second time I’ve seen him nearby in just a couple of days.

I admit I felt a microsecond of foolish hope that he was coming to see me. A microsecond.

(Damn hope! You . . .

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