thoughts from an empty head

IMG_4200, originally uploaded by RLWiseman.

I should have my head examined for being in La Paz in the summer. The breeze, which on a good day was light and warm, was nonexistent today, the air shimmering along the Malecon in the early morning heat. Still, the scenery wasn’t bad, and the iced coffee was always good at the little shop across the street from the bay. I checked my watch and decided that she would get another ten minutes before I retreated to my car and the cooler western coast.

Nine minutes later, she walked up to the table. How she managed to look serene in this heat was always a mystery to me, but I never complained. She sat across from me without a word, crossing her long legs and motioning to the waiter.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” she said in that delightful singsong German accent of hers.

I motioned impatiently at the empty table before us. She reached into her bag and withdrew the small PDA, placing it gently on the table. I reached into my pocket and found the small plastic envelope. I opened her PDA and slipped the memory card into the side portal, waiting for the device to find the card. The PDA beeped once and began running the diagnostic program installed on the card.

The waiter came over with her iced tea, gently setting down in front of her. She smiled and took a sip, waiting for the device to confirm the contents. She did not wait long; the PDA beeped once more and flashed a green light. Smiling, she scooped up the device and replaced it in her bag, withdrawing a single piece of paper.

“The money will be sent to your usual account, then,” she said, pausing only for another sip of tea. “I’m happy that we could do business again.”

My face wore only the same pensive look I always wore now. “When will the story run?”

Her smile never wavered. “If your data checks out, the piece should run in next week’s edition. I only wish you had come to me with this information earlier. It might have saved your country a good deal of bother.”

I grunted slightly. “The saddest words of tongue and pen, then.”

Her smile dimmed slightly. “I’m not familiar with that phrase.”

I stood, dropping some pesos on the table. “John Greenleaf Whittier. A man who knew all about regrets, I think.”

I walked in the direction of my car, wondering how long it would be before I would have to leave again. I knew it would be soon, though I prayed it would be for the last time.

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 26th, 2008 at 11:04 pm and is filed under fiction, meme, photography. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.