IF YOU HAVEN’T READ PART ONE, IT IS HERE: PART ONE
After several agonizing weeks of near incessant Skype dates, we finally made a plan to meet in person. Under a Costa Coffee sign in the train station at Heathrow airport. The day I was flying in, he was coming off a DJ gig in Paris, and would be arriving by train back in London just as I was landing. We had agreed to split the cost of airfare, him putting it on his credit card and me pulling eight hundred fifty dollars in cash from the bank, changing it to pounds, and stuffing it between the pages of The Stories of Paul Bowles. My favorite book at the time. Interestingly enough, filled with ominous tales of international travel gone awry.
After customs, I found my checked bag and hauled it, frazzled through the crowd until I reached our meeting point, where I waited anxiously (my blackberry didn’t work at all), scanning the thousands of faces for the one I couldn’t wait to see.
There he was. His sandy hair tousled, pillow lips, unsmiling…
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