Sneaking out on tiptoe with our suitcase down dark stairs, then along dark streets with only garbage trucks for company. With one suitcase still on the curb, abandoned, orphaned, alone, Comrade Snarky sits down and says, “Okay.” Comrade Snarky tucks the luggage tag in her olive-green pocket, then lifts the second suitcase and steps up into the bus. ,” Saint Gut-Free says into the microphone that hangs above his steering wheel.Īnd Comrade Snarky says, “Fine.” She leans down to unbuckle a luggage tag off one suitcase. With a black beret pulled down tight on her head, she could be anyone. When the bus pulls to the corner where Comrade Snarky had agreed to wait, she stands there in an army-surplus flak jacket-dark olive-green-and baggy camouflage pants, the cuffs rolled up to show infantry boots.
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