Rhodes

The boys, again, do well in this documentation of a well sexy till of mine in Greece. MALAKA!
 

Tragic Greeks Rhodes with bumps and chair beads and sweaty drivers. He blesses himself at each corner. Beeped his horn at the location of death for colleagues and friends and relatives and strangers alike. A ritual of remembrance, Abi thought. The swinging St. Christopher from his rear view mirror silhouetted by the sinking light over the hill. Fourteen euros on a red LED meter from the airport, an icy blast from a fan bests the clammy heat. Curve and wind, a dip and a break, eight euros from destination. Isolated restaurants chew up blonde tourists, their lights fashion scaled fireflies on darkening horizons. Tired sighs ignored by relentless rattle of Greek talk radio. Or Greek music? The driver reaches over the non-smoking sign on the right of his dash to flick ash all over Abi and the gear stick. Without feeling the need to ask she sparks herself and wakens up. Twenty euros on a red LED meter. St. Christopher the protector clutches a light. Not as easy to replace as he swings to and fro on the tightening island roads. Zips of passing vespas bring a main street into view - “Pefkos” unwelcoming signs do read. Careful drivers are a given as roadside flowers prey tell. Fishbowls, pool cues, mopeds, green hand written murals and litters of kitten flash by. A sharp right turn allows the driver’s arm hairs to twinkle beneath a clear nights sky. Away from the main street and hidden down a loosely gravelled lane was Kali’s villa. Twenty-two euros on a red LED meter. A waving welcome party of familiar faces showed various degrees of sincerity. A still tall blonde, like the ones in the restaurants in the hills stood emotionless. As though to be noticed by Abi. Jenny. “Jenny, Abi”. Days on a beach with her could be confusing.

Ouzo and swordfish souvlaki and sleep rolled on as Abi swung her arm as she lay face down on the couch. Her hand caught perfect cold relief as the lowest ebb of each swing from the tiled floors inside. Crushed thoughts of La Jenny burst into a tiring mind. Warm hands seek cold fingers another swipe is turned. City after city boy after boy a beach with a bitch about time. Fingernails on chilled grouting catch. Ouzo disgusts as a slowing hand reaches a rest as knuckles drag in the dreams